


Collision Course

by torres



Series: Anfield High [1]
Category: Football RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-07
Updated: 2014-07-31
Packaged: 2018-01-23 22:16:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 91,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1581419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/torres/pseuds/torres
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A new school year is about to start, and the Liverpool boys are sure this is going to be the time of their lives. They say that every year though.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Because tonight’s the night the world begins again

The dying orange embers and the thin wisp of smoke were stark in contrast to the quickly darkening sky.

“This is how we’re spending the next year?” Daniel Agger exhaled another breath of smoke. “Staying after school to watch the swim team do their daily jog around the campus?”

“Yes,” Stephen Finnan said matter-of-factly, eyes fixed on the small group of students doing warm-up exercises a few metres away.

“It’s pathetic,” Dan put bluntly, casually tapping his cigarette to shake off the excess ash.

“You’ve got a better idea?” Finns appraised his friend, “Training isn’t starting until two weeks from now.”

Dan reclined lazily on the Dalglish Library’s steps. “How about a five-a-side game in the park?”

Finns chuckled airily. “Five-a-side with who?”

“Me and you,” Dan ticked off the names one by one. “Carra, for sure, because he’ll put football above anything.”

“He’s got a part-time job down at the diner, remember?”

Dan frowned. “Pepe and that wiry French dude can be our keepers.”

“Pepe, maybe. Charles Itandje? That quiet lad?” The Irishman scoffed. “Good luck trying to even talk to him.”

“Xabi and Stevie, don’t forget them.”

“Come on, Danny. Xabi, for sure, will be up to his nose buried in books making sure he gets straight As this year—just like he does every year. And wherever Xabi is, Stevie is also.”

“Stupid two-for-one deals,” Dan muttered.

“Anymore brilliant ideas?” Finns teased. “Strikers, maybe?”

“I guess we could call around Dirk and Crouchy,” Dan scratched his chin, thinking.

“Yeah, and when have Kuyt and Crouch last hit the back of the net?” Finns quizzed.

Dan thought back—as far back as he could, really. “Fuck it.”

“Yes. Stevie and I were talking about that in class this morning. We badly need a good striker or two,” Finns sighed. “If we want to win that local league cup this year and beat those Mancs, we’ve got to fix our attack.”

Dan’s smirk twisted into a rare, full-blown grin, “Yeah. They’re shooting blanks, our strikers. Good thing we’re sorted defensively.” The two defenders glanced at each other and roared with proud laughter.

“Do you think there are going to be any good finds in next week’s tryouts?” Finns nibbled at his pen cap.

“Hopefully, but don’t ask me.” Dan threw his cigarette stub to the ground and snuffed it with the toe of his black leather school shoes. “I just want to check out the jailbait.”

Finns shook his head. “You think stalking the swimming squad is boring, but you get off at the thought of fresh meat applying for the football squad?”

“Of course,” Dan shrugged nonchalantly. “I don’t like swimmers. Their Speedos don’t leave anything to the imagination and they perpetually smell of chlorine.”

“You picky brat.”

They both drifted into silence and watched the swim team finish the last of their stretching exercises. A few minutes after, they jogged away.

“Okay, they’re gone.” Dan nagged, “Now can we do something else?”

“What else is there?” Finns stretched out and yawned, resting his head on his schoolbag. He closed his eyes in hopes of catching a quick nap, but he soon felt Dan’s fingers playing with his hair. His eyes shot open. “Dan,” he warned.

“Come on, Steve. Let’s go to the library. The Anthropology section’s always deserted.”

Finns waved Dan away, “Dan, we talked about this.”

“Finns—” Dan tried to reason with his best friend and then some.

“I’m graduating after this term,” Finns talked over the protests. “I want to focus on my studies.”

“Yes, you do, because you have such bad academic standing,” Dan snapped sarcastically, rolled his eyes and lit another cigarette.

“Yes, and if I get into the university I like, I’m going back to Ireland. What do you want to happen then, eh, Agger? A long-distance relationship? You go to the same uni I’m in for the sake of being together?”

“You exaggerate,” Dan scoffed, refusing to be painted like a clingy admirer. “We’re not in a relationship. Whatever’s happened between us was just fooling around. Experimentation out of boredom.”

“Exactly.”

“Finns,” Dan slowly took a long drag of his cigarette, let the smoke fill his throat, then idly exhaled. “I’m bored now. Can we experiment?”

Finns sighed and renegotiated. “We’re never going to get over this thing if you don’t find somebody else to make out with.”

Dan gave up. He jumped up to his feet and threw his unfinished cigarette at the lawn unrepentantly.

“Where are you going?” Finns asked.

“I’m heading to the library.”

“On the night of the first day of school?”

“Yes,” Dan hissed, strapping his bag onto himself. “There’s nothing better to do.”

“Jesus, Daniel, don’t tell me you’re mad,” Finns called out to his best friend. He had his days—which was mostly every day, really. But only Finns could handle his mood swings better than anyone else.

Dan sighed and turned around, “I’m not mad, Stephen. I’m not a fucking woman.”

Finns chuckled, to which Dan gave him a small smile. The Dane was never the sentimental type. He neither held grudges nor wasted his time moping around. If it was done, it was done. Get on with it.

“Well, I’m off to find a new make-out partner, as you so elegantly put it,” Dan said.

“So, you’re really off to whore yourself in the library? Classy, Dagger.”

“What better way to start the new school year, right?” Dan retorted.

“I’ll see you tomorrow in class then,” Finns gave the defender a slight wave. Dan nodded and climbed up the steps of the library two at a time.

*

He flew up the steps of the Houllier Arts and Humanities building in a wild panic.

“Holy fookin’ Christ!” Steven Gerrard cursed under his breath as he flew past the Anfield High entrance, only briefly stopping to check the official clock hanging by the door. He had two minutes to get up to his third-floor classroom; his French professor enjoyed locking out latecomers, watching them helplessly peering in from the small glass pane of the door as he launched into a three-hour long discussion they would never be able to catch up on.

“Faster, Gerrard!” He could see a pinprick blob that was probably Jamie Carragher down the hall, urgently waving him over. Stevie hiked his messenger bag up his shoulder as he upped his pace, skidding down the linoleum floors in frenzy.

“And with thirty seconds left,” Mr Arsene Wenger tutted, checking his wristwatch before looking at Stevie disapprovingly. “Next time, let’s not cut it close, yes, Mr Gerrard?”

Stevie kept his head down and mumbled a heavily-accented Scouse “oui,” before moving on to plop down onto the empty seat Xabi Alonso had saved for him.

“Overslept?” Xabi whispered discreetly from behind his notebook.

“Yeah,” Stevie mumbled back, pretending to busy himself with taking out his books from his bag. “There was an interview with King Kenny on telly last night. It ended pretty late.”

Xabi chuckled, shaking his head disbelievingly, but whatever he had intended to reply was cut short when Mr Wenger cleared his throat and began his lecture.

An hour into the lecture and somewhere in the middle of French adverbs, Stevie shifted restlessly in his seat.

“Xabi,” Stevie poked his friend’s side.

Xabi squirmed and shot Stevie a dirty look, before going back to dutifully taking down organised notes.

“I don’t understand it anymore,” Stevie whispered. “What’s happening?”

Xabi gripped his pen tightly, and making sure that Wenger wasn’t looking in their direction, he hissed back, “These were the chapters he assigned to us last week.”

“...We had an assignment last week?”

Xabi rolled his eyes and ignored his seatmate, training his eyes on the Powerpoint presentation.

“Xabi,” Stevie whispered urgently again, around 15 minutes after. Xabi pointedly pretended not to hear him.

Stevie sighed and ripped off a page of lined notebook paper. He scrawled, “I’m bored. I can’t wait for tryouts tomorrow,” and passed it to Xabi underneath the table. Xabi scowled but accepted the note, opening the paper on his lap and scanning it quickly. Stevie smiled when he saw Xabi giggle, raise an eyebrow and scratch a quick reply.

“I have good news,” Stevie muttered, reading the note to himself. He looked up, glanced at Xabi questioningly. He could see that Xabi was clearly torn about listening to today’s lesson and sharing what seemed like exciting news he couldn’t keep to himself any longer. Stevie motioned, jutting his pen against Xabi’s thigh, prodding him to spill.

Xabi bit his lip, checked on Mr Wenger again, before grabbing the note from Stevie and writing a long reply. But just as he was folding it up, the loud smack of a metal pointer slamming against a wooden table made them both jump.

“Mr Alonso and Mr Gerrard,” Mr Wenger started, rounding the teacher’s table, pausing his presentation. “It seems like the both of you have found something more interesting to do than listen to today’s lesson.”

Stevie could see Xabi from the corner of his eye, writhing underneath the professor’s scolding gaze and blushing in embarrassment. He, however, was used to the lecture, and it almost had no effect on him.

“Something expected, maybe, from Steven, but I would never expect this from you, Xabier. And here I thought you were one of the best students of your batch,” the Frenchman continued his sermon, approaching their table. Before they could stop him, his hand darted out and snatched the note, stashed underneath Xabi’s pencil case.

“I’m bored, I can’t wait for training later already,” Mr Wenger read out loud dryly from the scrunched up ball of paper. The class, most of who had been half-asleep, stirred in their seats and started giggling among themselves. Mr Wenger, pleased with the audience, continued in a sing-song voice, “I have good news.”

“I heard Rafa signed this kid from Madrid for a football scholarship here. Fernando Torres, sophomore, striker. I’ve heard of him in Spain. He’s supposed to be really good,” Wenger continued, but he was soon overwhelmed with the sudden excited tittering of their classmates. It would be an understatement to say football was the biggest thing in school. Any bit of information about the squad—from statistics to squad numbers, kit designs to playing formations—was published in the school publications, discussed by students along the halls and followed more avidly than any subject or coursework the school offered.

“Oy, Xabi, you never told me that!” Carra hollered from the back, now fully awakened from his daily French class nap.

“Are you sure he’s not shite?” Pennant pulled his seat from across the hallway, leaning closer to Xabi’s table. Stevie piped in, “Yeah, they also said that lad Fernando Morientes was brilliant, and look what happened.”

“No, Torres is different. He even started for Atletico Madrid’s first team at 16,” Xabi countered against his better judgment. He immediately clapped his hand over his mouth when he saw Mr Wenger staring down at him murderously for joining into the fracas.

Upon exciting news, the animated chattering increased its volume even more, making the French professor stop midway in reading the darned note, seeing the noise and distraction it caused. He balled up the paper in his fist and threw it in the trash can.

“No more notes for both of you,” Mr Wenger’s hands were shaking in anger. “All of you!”

But the class was uncontrollable now. The students were talking about upgrading their strike force, the number of goals they needed to qualify for the cups, the players that needed to be rotated.

“Quiet!” Mr Wenger tried to screech at the top of his lungs. “Keep quiet and bring out a half sheet of paper! Pop quiz, everybody!”

That got everyone completely silent. Not even Carra had the guts to groan and complain at the exam he was bound to fail. Xabi threw Stevie a dirty look, mouthing, “Look what you’ve done.”

“Oh, shut up, Xabi,” Stevie muttered under his breath as he looked around the room for Carra, hoping to mooch some paper off him. “You were the one who had to get caught. You couldn’t pass a note properly?”

*

Dan dropped himself down on the soft, plush couch and opened a book on his lap, rifling through to find the page where he left off the other day. Contrary to popular belief, he wasn’t really a lazy, idiotic slacker. He actually liked reading. It was just that the things he chose to read were much, much more interesting than the crap they taught in class. Therefore, he couldn’t be bothered to listen.

“Excuse me, you dropped your detention slip.”

Dan distractedly looked up from his book at the sound of a strange, accented voice. He quickly surveyed the yellow piece of paper handed to him and then the student that was holding it: a tall, blond boy with a solid build yet soft, delicate features.

“Thanks,” he mumbled. His tongue felt dry and slack. He found the guy eerily good-looking, and Dan was usually very hard to please. The boy just nodded and went on his way to his study table not a few metres away. Dan unabashedly followed every move (like the purposeful stride of those long legs, the furrow of that forehead as he reviewed the books in his hands, the graceful movement of those slender fingers as he switched on the lamp on his table) and scrutinised every detail (the broad shoulders, the slightly dishevelled blond hair, the glow of freckled skin bathed in the yellow of the desk light).

The stranger looked up, must have sensed someone staring at him. He saw Daniel, and Daniel didn’t look away. He held his gaze for two, three seconds, and then _smirked_. The stranger, to his credit, didn’t seem fazed. He just raised an eyebrow, appeared utterly unimpressed and went back to highlighting the book in front of him.

 _‘That cheeky bastard,’_ Dan couldn’t help grinning to himself as he returned to his reading again. Every time he finished a chapter, he took a break and used it as an excuse to relentlessly observe the stranger again (the first time, he read the titles of the books the stranger had taken out and figured he wasn’t a dunce; the second time, he watched him take a break from his own studying and stroll around the library, pensively sipping coffee; the last time, he ogled—there was no better word for it—the stranger as he shrugged off his school blazer, draped it on his chair, loosened the scarlet red tie, opened a few buttons of his crisp white shirt and rolled up the sleeves messily. Daniel thought he had never seen anyone look so hot in the school uniform, much less stripping out of it.)

The clock in the library chimed softly, breaking Dan’s train of thought. Eleven o’clock. There was a slight bustle around the room since eleven o’clock was the weekday curfew of the on-campus dormitories. A couple of students stood up and made for the exit, and Dan’s prospect was one of them.

Dan hurriedly stood up as well, refusing to let the boy walk away before he got the chance to talk to him. He approached his table and the student visibly tensed, sensing Daniel coming over.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you here before.”

The boy briefly stopped gathering his belongings and met Daniel’s gaze, quizzical look on his face. He asked mockingly, “I’ve never seen you before either. Should I be interested?”

Dan smirked and without batting an eyelash, he answered, “Yes.”

The stranger rolled his eyes and hiked the strap of his bag onto his shoulder. “Goodbye.”

Dan, however, didn’t let him leave so easily. He hopped off his perch on the study cubicle and followed the man as he wove around tables and chairs. They finally came to a stop by the exit as the boys had to swipe their IDs by the door. Dan pounced on the chance.

“So, what are you doing in the library on a Friday night?”

The boy smiled at Daniel both brilliantly and patronisingly before shrugging nonchalantly. “Getting stalked by a random stranger?”

“Why, you’re highly assertive,” Dan checked the name that flashed on the computer screen as the student swiped his card, “...F. Torres.”

Fernando followed suit and shot back, “Well, you’re embarrassingly obvious, D. Agger.”

“Let’s not project,” Dan laughed airily,

“Let’s not deny.”

“What?” Dan held his hands up innocently. “I’m just your friendly neighbourhood welcoming committee.”

“Right,” Fernando was saying, and then, Dan didn’t know what was happening. Fernando had closed the distance between them in a flash by entwining Dan’s tie in between his fingers and then abruptly tugging him close—so abruptly that their chests crashed together and they were so close, Dan could do nothing but stare at the seductive way Fernando chewed on his bottom lip thoughtfully.

“So you’re telling me that if I grabbed you right now, shoved you behind one of those bookshelves and went down on you—” Fernando blinked slowly, innocently, curled eyelashes sweeping down on soft skin. “—You wouldn’t like it?”

Dan’s breath hitched. But he never lost at this game.

“No, not really,” he answered coolly.

Fernando stopped, jaw dropping slightly, obviously taken aback. But he let go of Dan, smoothened his tie for him and moved for the door.

“Too bad, Agger,” he smirked—the same confident smirk that Dan usually sported. “You should.”


	2. Don't sway

Daniel decided he hated Fernando Torres.

He stared at the blank white screen in front of him, the cursor blinking at him persistently, mocking his utter incapability of writing a 600-word reaction paper on the Cultural Revolution.

For the thousandth time that night, Daniel put down the lid of his laptop and casually looked around the library. Still no sign of Fernando fucking Torres.

He had dropped by every day after school—Saturday and Sunday even—in the library just to see if he would bump into the Spaniard again. He didn’t even have anything to study anymore, and the librarians knew who he was already. But there was still no sign of the person he was waiting for.

Daniel cursed under his breath and tried to focus on his History paper again. But every time he tried to reread his research on Mao Zedong and the Chinese Communist Party, his mind drifted, and those deep, accented words floated into his thoughts once more.

_If I grabbed you right now, shoved you behind one of those bookshelves and went down on you..._

Fernando asked him if he would like it.

Obviously, Dan said no.

It didn’t mean he wasn’t curious though.

*

Xabi walked faster, eager to get a front-row seat in the auditorium. He hated sitting in the back during film viewings. He couldn’t see properly, and the students were always noisier there because their Film professor, Mr Grant, sat far away.

“Our movie for today,” Mr Grant was giving instructions as the class ambled to the auditorium. He always talked painstakingly slowly, “Is _Schindler’s List_. Pass a critique next Monday.”

His classmates grumbled, but Xabi was excited. He loved that movie, and he could already conceptualize his film critique. Maybe Mr Grant would appreciate it if he included a historical analysis of the movie’s narration of the Holocaust. He walked faster, bouncing on his feet happily with every step.

The auditorium was pitch-dark and cold. Xabi felt his way down the steps, slowly making his way to the front row.

“Where do you think you’re going?” A heavy hand clapped down on his shoulder.

Xabi yelped and jumped, immediately whirling around to face a vague shape in the dark.

“Come sit with me in the back,” the stranger approached closer now, placing a familiar hand on his hip.

“Stevie,” Xabi whispered warningly, looking around to check if anyone was looking.

“No one can see us, Xabi. It’s too dark,” Stevie persisted, his hand pressing down harder on the Basque’s side.

Xabi shifted uncomfortably, “But, the movie...”

“You’ve already seen that movie. I know you have,” Stevie tugged him back up the auditorium, and Xabi could only find himself protesting weakly. “But there’s a paper and...”

“And Mr Grant loves you anyway. He would give you an A+ even if you copied your whole paper off Wikipedia,” Stevie said from somewhere in front of him. All around him, Xabi could hear the bustle of their classmates as they settled into their seats.

Stumbling up the last few steps of the viewing room, Stevie gently pushed Xabi toward an empty row of seats. It was surrounded by even more empty seats, and their closest classmates were around four rows down.

“Privacy, at last,” Stevie sighed to Xabi’s neck, the moment they tumbled down to their seats. Xabi bit his lip to control his breathing, “If we get caught—”

“We won’t,” Stevie was quick to cut him off. The Scouser lifted the armrest separating their seats and moved closer to Xabi.

Xabi threw one last cautionary look around the room: Carra and Hyppia were already sprawled across seats, blatantly sleeping. Mr Grant was hunched, stonily staring at the screen, oblivious to everything else. The movie had started and the music and sounds reverberated loudly around the auditorium.

Xabi cast a wary glance at the expectant captain. “Fine, maybe we could—”

“Finally,” Stevie was never one to waste time. “Now stop talking or else I’ll have to make you.”

Xabi worked at Stevie’s tie, whispering invitingly, “Make me.”

*

“Hola, sexy.”

Fernando whirled around and saw Harry Kewell leaning on the bathroom doorframe, staring at him shamelessly, a mischievous smirk on his face. The Spaniard didn’t freak out like he had on the first day they met. He had quickly learned that Harry was a sleaze, but a pretty harmless one. However, he did tighten his grip on the towel around his waist, just in case.

“Hi, Harry,” Fernando greeted wryly. “You always spy on your roommate when they get out of the shower?”

“Of course not,” Harry looked indignant, but he added cheekily, “Just the hot ones.”

Fernando rolled his eyes, “I’m still not sleeping with you.”

“You’re the one who left the door open,” Harry smirked, entering the steamy bathroom, “Admit it. You want me.”

Fernando raised an eyebrow. “I opened the door because you kept knocking, insisting you had to brush your teeth.”

“Oh. Right.”

“In fact, you always have to use the bathroom whenever I get out of the shower.”

“Really? How... coincidental,” Harry smiled innocently before turning to the sink and proceeding to brush his teeth. Fernando patiently waited behind him for his turn.

After a couple more gargles, Harry finally dried his mouth and closed the tap.

“Finally,” Fernando joked.

Harry turned around and approached the Spaniard. “You’re bold for a new student,” Harry commented devilishly. He placed a hand on the knot of Fernando’s towel. The Spaniard didn’t flinch. He just smiled calmly, “You do that and I’m asking the dormitory officer to transfer me.”

Harry rolled his eyes and pulled his hands away. “I’m rooming with the hottest student on campus, and I can’t even get any. The world is cruel.”

“Oh, Harry,” Fernando laughed, “You’ll find someone else to bed. You do every weekend.”

Harry scowled, but a tiny smile faintly played on his lips. “...You’re right, I do.”

“See?” Fernando patted Harry’s shoulder. “Now, please leave so I can dress up.”

“I can’t watch?” Harry asked hopefully.

“Er, no.”

“Don’t I get special privileges as your roommate? Or as a senior?”

Fernando rolled his eyes, but he pressed a quick peck on Harry’s cheek. “Because you’re cute when you beg,” the Spaniard relented with a chuckle. However, as he tried to pull away, a strong tug at his arm kept him in place. Fernando’s eyes widened, as he felt Harry press close to him, the Australian’s clothes getting wet at the contact with his moist skin. Harry kissed him quickly enough so Fernando couldn’t think of protesting, but kissed him deeply enough so that Fernando wouldn’t want to refuse.

When he pulled away, the young Spaniard was nothing but stunned. Harry’s face broke into a wide grin. “Good night!” He greeted cheekily before striding out of the bathroom.

*

“Wow, you’re early for a change,” Pepe greeted Daniel who stumbled into their first class of the day half-awake.

“I didn’t get any sleep,” the defender grumbled as he threw himself down on the seat to the left of Pepe. “I tried making that stupid paper but I just couldn’t come up with anything.”

Pepe shrugged, “You couldn’t bullshit your way through? That’s what I did.”

“When I said I couldn’t come up with anything, I meant it,” Dan grumbled. “Wake me up when Fergie arrives. I’m gonna catch myself some sleep.” Before the goalkeeper could answer, Dan folded his arms on the table and laid his head down.

After a few minutes of shallow sleep, however, he vaguely sensed the room descend into sudden quiet—a definite sign that the professor had arrived. He grudgingly sat up, rubbing his eyes tiredly.

“Why are you up?” Pepe asked in confusion.

Dan looked around confused. Mr Ferguson was nowhere to be seen. “The class became silent, I thought—”

“It only seemed quiet because the girls stopped chattering. Fernando just arrived.”

He was probably still in the process of waking up, but Dan asked dumbly, “Who’s Fernando?”

Pepe was sceptical. “How could you not know him? He’s all everybody talks about lately.”

Dan rolled his eyes. He hated overhyped campus heartthrobs—They were arrogant, shallow pricks who didn’t look half as attractive as they were made out to be.

Pepe pointed to a tall, blond boy. “There he is, Fernando Torres. The next big thing, I’ve been told.”

The defender followed Pepe’s gaze, and lo and behold—if it wasn’t the same face haunting Daniel all weekend.

“He’s our History classmate?” Daniel asked as nonchalantly as he could, but inside, he was a mixture of shock, excitement, relief and anxiety. “Why do I not know this??” He demanded.

Pepe rolled his eyes. “When were you ever early for class? Or, when were you even awake for this class?”

Daniel gaped, and Pepe had to ask. “What’s the big deal? You don’t know half the people in this class anyway.”

But before the Dane could reply, a voice interrupted them, “Hola, Pepe. Is it alright if sit here?”

Dan watched dumbly as Fernando approached the both of them and motioned at the empty seat on the other side of the goalkeeper. Dan vaguely heard Pepe saying ‘go ahead’ or something, but he was mostly just concentrating on not looking too obvious. So, when Fernando’s gaze slowly flicked from Pepe and met Dan’s, Dan sat there emotionless, before coolly looking away.

“Alright, everyone, take your seats,” Mr Ferguson entered the room, and the entire class groaned. A three-hour History class on a Monday morning was possibly the worst combination for class schedules.

They proceeded to flip open their gigantic textbooks and Daniel was quick to zone out even before Mr Ferguson had begun recapping where they left off in their previous discussion. He bit back a huge yawn and blinking back tears, he cradled his head in his hand tiredly. He let his attention dwindle as he started watching people instead.

To his right, Pepe was already busy doodling on the margins of his textbook. He was concentrating so hard on drawing a caricature of Mr Ferguson, his forehead was furrowed and the tip of his tongue stuck out from the corner of his mouth.

And to Pepe’s right was Fernando. Daniel casually swivelled in his seat, pretending to stare into nothingness, but really letting his gaze settle on the Spaniard out of the corner of his eye. _‘There’s nothing amazing about him anyway,’_ Daniel muttered to himself.

He scrutinized Fernando’s hair and thought it was too long, unruly (and it would feel thick under his fingers). He studied Fernando’s skin, snickered that it was too pale, freckled (and wondered how it would feel or, better yet, taste). He memorized Fernando’s profile—the curl of his eyelashes, the slope of his nose, those plump lips. He racked his brain for a fault and couldn’t come up with any, so he thought that maybe the fault was that it was all a bit too perfect.

“Mate,” Pepe elbowed him suddenly, jolting him out of his thoughts. “You watch out. Mr Ferguson’s giving you the evil eye.”

Dan shook his head to wake him up and pretended to write a few lines in his notebook. The professor nodded at him approvingly.

But as soon as Mr Ferguson resumed discussing Marco Polo and spices, Daniel felt his head invariably dropping. His eyes followed the rhythmic pattern of Fernando’s handwriting as he diligently took notes. His fingers were long, slender and delicately wrapped around his pen. Daniel wondered if it was possible to have a finger fetish and—wait a minute, what was that? Fernando shifted to turn a page in his notebook and the sleeve of his blazer pulled back revealing a black patch on the back of his wrist. Tattoos were Daniel’s weakness. He craned his neck and leaned forward on his seat to take a closer look, until—

“Mr Agger, what are you doing?”

Daniel froze. “I—I’m not doing anything, Mr Ferguson.”

“You keep fidgeting in your seat.”

Daniel wondered how Mr Ferguson would react if he answered truthfully, _‘I’m just trying to get a closer look at the exchange student, sir, because his fingers are damn sexy and I want to lick his tattoo.’_

“I’m just trying to get a closer look at the Powerpoint Presentation, Mr Ferguson.”

Pepe stifled a snicker beside him, muttering, “Bullshit, Agger.” Daniel kicked him under the seat.

“Well, if you’ve taken such a keen attention to our lecture for today,” Mr Ferguson paced up the room and loomed over their desks, “Why don’t you answer our next question?”

Daniel shifted in his seat, catching sight of Fernando leaning forward to look at him.

“What is the Treaty of Tordesillas?”

Daniel cursed under his breath. He knew this. He had read this dozens of times before in the library!

Mr Ferguson raised his eyebrows expectantly. Daniel looked at Pepe for help but Pepe just shrugged cluelessly.

“Uh, the Treaty of Tordesillas... was the agreement that sold Moluccas to Portugal?” Dan guessed.

“Wrong, as expected,” Mr Ferguson thundered. “Anyone who can enlighten Mr Agger here?”

The rest of the class immediately looked down and pretended to study their notes.

“Yes, Mr...?”

“Torres,” the voice answered, and Daniel’s head whirled to his right immediately, as did all the girls in his class.

“I think the Treaty of Tordesillas was the agreement between Spain and Portugal to divide the countries of the world between them?” He asked unsurely.

Mr Ferguson blinked and grudgingly nodded. “That’s correct.” He turned on his heel and went back to the blackboard to draw a diagram of the world.

Pepe nudged Fernando, “What the fuck, Torres? I didn’t know you were a nerd.”

Fernando blushed, “No, I just vaguely remembered something like that. I got lucky.”

Daniel gritted his teeth. He knew that! He just needed some reminding. Portugal got all the countries to the east and Spain got all the countries to the west.

“That’s unfair. I could have answered that,” Dan grumbled to Pepe.

“Well, why didn’t you?”

“I forgot.”

Pepe rolled his eyes. “At least Mr Ferguson’s let you off the hook. He’s not usually that nice. Imagine if he gave you the hair dryer treatment.”

“Whatever, Fernando just knew that cos he’s Spanish,” Daniel complained.

“I’m Spanish and I have no idea what this lecture is about,” Pepe shrugged.

“Well, that’s you.”

Pepe shoved him playfully.

The bell rang and Pepe gave a silent whoop of celebration. The class immediately began slamming closed their books and shoving their things in their bags.

“Now, now, before you go, read chapter III for the next meeting,” Mr Ferguson yelled above the noise, his face bright red. “And pass your papers to me before you leave.”

“Oh. Shit,” Daniel cursed, his blood running cold.

“Just try to slip out,” Pepe said and Dan nodded, jumping up and trying to get lost in the crowd.

“Mr Agger,” the teacher called out warningly. “It’s not easy to hide when you’re a six-footer. Now, hand in your paper or do you not have it?”

Dan bit his lip. He would have typed it if he weren’t distracted over the weekend with the image of a certain Spaniard giving him a blowjob in the library. But, yeah.

“No, sir,” Dan grumbled.

Mr Ferguson frowned, “Detention, Mr Agger. You don’t pay attention in my class, you don’t know the lecture and you dare come in without your assignment?” He thrust a familiar yellow slip at Dan with angry red marks explaining his offense.

“But Sir, the football team—”

“I don’t care what your little football team is supposed to be doing today. You will serve your detention or else!” Mr Ferguson bellowed angrily. Dan snatched the paper from him and with one last glare, scampered from the room to make it to his next class in time.

*

Rafa announced, “That was a really good trial, everyone. We’ll post the results tomorrow on the extra-curricular activities’ bulletin board.”

The thirty-something hopefuls filed out of the locker room quietly, the tryouts finally coming to a close.

“Stevie, take the senior team members to the meeting room, narrow down the applicants,” Rafa instructed, handing his captain a stack of papers. “Give me the short list and I’ll talk to my coaching staff about who we’ll accept into the first team.”

Stevie nodded obediently and took the application forms, signalling for Carra, Sami, Finns and Ginger to follow him into the small conference room.

“I like this batch,” Riise commented, dropping into a chair tiredly. “A lot of them have potential.”

“Good then, let’s finish this quickly because I have a shift at the pub in thirty minutes,” Carra said, checking his watch.

Stevie nodded at his vice-captain and started filing through the papers one by one. “How about this freshman Jack Hobbs? I like him.”

Sami nodded hesitantly, “He looks good, but I think he’s still a bit too young.”

“Carra and you are graduating students. We need cover at the back,” Stevie argued.

“Daniel is enough cover and he’s only a sophomore. Alvaro too,” Finns piped in.

“Alvaro’s not a centre-half,” Stevie reminded. Riise wrinkled his nose, “I think Hobbs has potential, but he’s still a bit unsure on the ball.”

Carra suggested, “How about we just put him in the reserves first? That way, he gets some playing time and he can mature a little.”

Stevie looked around the room for any disagreements. “Okay, that’s a good idea. Reserves it is.”

“This boy Leto?”

“Who’s that?”

“The one with the long hair?” Sami reminded everyone.

“Sami, everyone had long hair today,” Carra laughed. “I don’t know why, but this batch has some dodgy hairstyles.”

Stevie lifted Leto’s application form and they all pored over the 1x1 picture attached.

“Hm, unremarkable.”

“Put him on the ‘maybe’ list?”

Stevie nodded and put his paper on the middle pile.

The shortlist grew longer and longer: Hobbs, Leto, El-Zhar, Insua...

“Voronin?” Stevie looked at his fellow senior members.

Sami nodded, “Good striking ability, horrible ponytail.”

“And he’s Ukranian!” Riise chided. “That should count for something.”

“Oh, I like these two,” Stevie lifted two application forms, “Mascherano and Lucas.”

“That Mascherano was a monster tackler!” Sami jumped in his seat, looking excited.

“And Lucas, it says here, has some captaincy experience in Brazil. He’s very creative and fluid in the midfield,” Finns said, reading off the form.

“Guys,” Carra interrupted, and they all stopped. If anyone had a good reading of the game, it was Carra. He was the ultimate sports buff. “Don’t you think that’s one too many midfielders?”

“Well,” Stevie shifted. “Mascherano’s a holding midfielder.”

“Xabi’s a holding midfielder,” Carra put in blatantly.

“Maybe Xabi could move a little bit forward,” Finns commented.

“That’s my position,” Stevie said testily.

“Why don’t you—”

“I’m not playing on the right!” Stevie cut off. “We’ve been through this last season.”

The others exchanged glances. “Well, then I guess Xabi will have a bit of competition then with Lucas and Mascherano in the squad,” Sami put in carefully.

“It’s just a bit of cover,” Stevie protested. This was his midfield, “Besides, you know Rafa loves Xabi. He’s his brains on the pitch.”

The others nodded slowly and agreed. Stevie put Lucas and Mascherano in the short-list, along with two young wingers, Yossi Benayoun and Ryan Babel.

“Finally, some wingers. Harry never came back after his fookin’ injury,” Carra said.

“Any other strikers?” Sami questioned, looking at the clock. It was getting dark outside.

“Hey, what about that Fernando Torres?” Riise asked.

“It’s not even up for discussion anymore, Ginger,” Carra stood up from his seat.

“Yeah, he cemented his place in the squad the moment he outran Alvaro down the flank and slotted home past Pepe,” Sami said.

Stevie read all the names once more and they all agreed. “That’s it then. I’ll pass this to Rafa. Don’t forget, we have training on Friday!”

They all filed out of the room, eager to get home, when they bumped into a disgruntled Daniel Agger coming out of the detention room.

“Danny!” Sami called out, “Too bad you missed tryouts today.”

Dan just growled in response, obviously just as pissed to have missed out on the team’s first event of the year. “I’m going out for a smoke.” He headed the opposite way.

“I should probably go with him and check what’s wrong,” Finns excused himself from the group. “Do you guys want to come with me?”

“Nah, I have to get to the diner,” Carra said loping off to the exit hurriedly. “See you all tomorrow!”

Finns looked at the others expectantly. Riise shook his head, “No thanks. You and Dan might want to start having sex or something, we wouldn’t want to interrupt.”

Finns scowled. “We ended that already, okay.”

“Yeah, right,” Stevie scoffed. “Weren’t you both sexed up every day of summer?”

“You’re exaggerating! And that was summer. We said we’d end it already this year,” Finns protested, but it only made his friends laugh.

“We’ll see you, Finns.” Sami said, leading the pack to the exit as well. Stevie winked at him, “Have fun with Danny!”

*

“If you want to stop getting detention, smoking out in the open might not be a good idea,” Finns said, approaching Danny in the deserted parking lot.

“Don’t try to be funny,” Dan snarled. Finns shrugged and dropped on the bench next to his fellow defender. Dan threw the stub in the bushes, and Finns hoped that the flame was out or else the whole school would burn down.

“Why’d you get detention?”

“Mr Ferguson was out to get me.”

“Mr Ferguson? You usually do good at history!”

Dan shrugged, “So I forgot to pass a paper or something.”

“Daniel!”

“How were tryouts?” Dan changed the topic, busy with lighting another stick.

“Pretty good,” Finns said, stretching out. “Tiring too. I don’t think I’ve gotten a good run-out in a long time.”

“Were there any good additions?”

“A couple, yeah.”

“Were there any good additions?” Daniel asked again, but his tone mischievous now.

Finns laughed. “I’m not sure if he’s your type, but there was this striker that was pretty good-looking.”

“Spill.”

“He’s your year, I think. Tall, freckled, blonde hair?”

Dan choked on his cigarette smoke. “WHAT?” He demanded, spluttering.

Finns pat his back helpfully, “What’s wrong?”

“Is he Spanish?”

“Yes. You know Fernando Torres?” Finns asked, “He was so amazing today! You should have seen how he—”

“My god, what is with the world?” Dan cried out loud. “Why does everyone keep talking about him? WHY?”

Finns stopped. “What’s up your ass?”

“I hate him.”

“Why?”

“He thinks he’s all that. He’s cocky and arrogant. We can’t have him in our team!”

“How do you know this?” Finns asked.

“We have History together.”

“You know all this... because you had one class together?” Finns was sceptical.

 _‘I was staring at him, okay?’_ Dan thought of saying, but instead he dismissed the question. “I just know.”

Finns shrugged. “I don’t know. He seemed pretty quiet and modest when we saw him.”

“It’s just an act, Finns,” Dan rolled his eyes and blew the smoke in the night air. “He’s one of those people who just know they’re attractive.”

Finns nodded slowly and pondered.

“...So, you think he’s attractive?”

“What?” Dan demanded angrily.

“You said Fernando knew he was attractive. You think he’s attractive?” Finns asked, a teasing smirk on his lips.

Dan’s jaw dropped, “I—I was speaking objectively!” He replied a little too loudly and quickly.

Finns nodded slowly. “Oh. You should have seen his tattoos today. You would have been proud.”

Dan’s eyes bugged out. “...Really?”

The Irishman smirked triumphantly and Dan corrected himself, stammering, “Not that I care or anything.”

“Right,” Finns chortled. “If you ask me, this feels a lot like sexual tension.”


	3. A game of you

Fernando knew he was going to face a lot of harassment when he moved to a new country, transferred to a new school and worse, tried out for a new football team. Football players, after all, were dicks.

And the worst of them all was Daniel Agger.

Fernando rubbed the sore spot on his calf. The Dane loomed above him. “Well, aren’t you getting up?” He sneered. Fernando sighed and gingerly made it to his feet.

“Made of glass?” Dan asked, smirk on his face.

Fernando ignored him and took the ball all the way out of the box. All around him, strikers and defenders were paired up and running drills in their first training in the school team.

“One more try,” Fernando said.

Dan smiled and got ready to mark the Spaniard, feet apart, knees bent, eyes trained determinedly on Fernando’s every movement.

Fernando gave the ball a solid kick to get it moving and ran as quick as he could—pace was, after all, his best asset. It worked against Carra and Sami and Alvaro and Riise during tryouts. Too bad Daniel wasn’t there because he was faster than all of them combined.

He felt a shoulder against him, and the next thing Fernando knew, Daniel was right on his heels. Eyes widening, he tried to shift away, dribble or feint, but in a split-second Daniel had thrown himself into an inch-perfect tackle, sending Fernando flying to the ground with a heavy thud.

Fernando let his head drop to the grass, looking up at the sky, trying to catch his breath. His leg throbbed painfully. He glanced at Daniel, impatiently tapping his foot, “Drills aren’t over, Torres.”

Fernando glared. The Dane didn’t even extend a hand to help him up—the universal sign of well-meaning defending. _‘But of course, Daniel isn’t well-meaning,’_ Fernando thought wryly to himself as he stood up again, keeping a straight face, refusing to show Dan he was getting affected.

He took the ball again and moved outside the penalty box, but this time, Daniel walked with him, pressing to his side, muttering to his ear, “That’s it? This is the new striker everyone’s talking about?”

Fernando balled his hands into fists but kept on walking. Daniel persisted, taunting, “Show me what you’ve got,” he snickered and continued with much disdain, _“El Niño.”_

Fernando gritted his teeth and something sparked inside him. He whirled around abruptly, and pressed back against Daniel, foreheads butting, noses touching and eyes smouldering with anger. But his voice was cold, calm.

“Best of three, Agger.”

Daniel didn’t flinch nor waver—even if he was acutely aware of Fernando’s tight grip on the side of his jersey, the body heat emanating from the striker up close. He just smirked, “Bring it.”

The Spaniard was the first to move away. He walked backwards, not once breaking eye contact with Dan. He dropped the ball on the ground casually. Dan smiled and Fernando smiled back. Then, he took a step back, and before Daniel could react, he took a running start before giving the ball a strong kick. Daniel’s head could only whip around to follow the trajectory of the ball, driving straight into the net.

“Goal,” Fernando smiled sweetly at the defender.

“Lucky break,” Dan shrugged. “If Pepe was in goal, he would have easily parried that away.”

Fernando raised an eyebrow. He took another stray football and it was all the same again. Daniel tried to run to him and intercept the ball but it was futile. The ball flew into the air rapidly: it went right—too far right—but it bent in the air and dropped on cue into the top corner of the goal.

“Did I tell you I have a pretty mean curling shot too?” Fernando asked innocently.

Daniel’s cheeks flushed. More and more people were now finishing their drills and sitting on the sidelines, watching them.

“Who cares about long-range shots?” Daniel countered. “Bring your game to me. One on one.”

If Fernando was uncertain, he didn’t show it. He just bent over to pull up his socks casually before positioning the ball at his feet. Slowly, he kicked it, and walked forward, the ball moving idly at his feet. Daniel’s eyes were trained on him. Fernando came into an easy jog and Daniel leaped at the chance. He lunged forward and bore down on Fernando, but the Spaniard suddenly burst into a run with speed—no, acceleration—Daniel never saw before.

Fernando broke away a few meters, but Dan quickly scampered after him, lungs burning and legs almost giving out, but he pressed on. A few yards into the box, and Fernando felt a heavy force bludgeoning to his side, trying to push him off the ball.

Grunting, the Spaniard momentarily took his eyes off the ball and used his weight to push back. Daniel was running too fast to be balanced and when Fernando threw him off with surprising force, his feet lost all coordination, and he skidded to the ground.

Daniel didn’t to open his eyes to know how the run ended. There were some scattered whooping and clapping from the sidelines, and he immediately knew, Fernando won. When he finally opened his eyes, Fernando was standing above him, extending one hand to help him up. The defender reluctantly took it.

“Well, how do you like me now?” Fernando taunted, and his lips curved into a smirk that could have reminded Daniel of his very own.

*

“Xabi, I don’t get it!” Stevie cried out from his desk, ripping out a sheet in his notebook in frustration and crumpling it angrily in his hands.

“What’s wrong?” Xabi stopped reading his book and looked up from his position on the floor of Stevie’s room.

Stevie read the question from their assigned problem set. “Why can’t inflation and employment co-exist? Illustrate graphically.”

“It’s explained in the textbook, Stevie.”

“But the chapter’s so long and—”

“Even the graphs are there—”

“There are a lot of graphs here—”

Xabi continued thoughtfully, “Actually, the problem set this week is actually fairly easy.”

“Xabi!” Stevie whimpered helplessly, slumping on his seat.

Xabi sighed. “When people are fully employed, what does that mean?”

Stevie blinked. “Everyone has jobs?”

Xabi prodded, “Therefore?”

Stevie’s face was blank. “Therefore... there won’t be any lazy-ass fuckers on the street?”

Xabi rolled his eyes. “Therefore, everyone will have wages.”

“That’s what I said!”

Xabi gave him a look. Stevie grinned sheepishly, “Okay, so everyone has wages. What does that have to do with inflation?”

“When everyone has wages, what will happen?” Xabi encouraged.

Stevie ran his hands in his hair in frustration. “Good grief, Xabi, don’t make me fill in the blanks!”

Xabi explained slowly, “When everyone has wages, they have more ability to buy goods and services, increasing demand and pushing up prices!”

“...So?”

“That’s what inflation is?”

“Oh.” Stevie scratched his head with the tip of his pen. “Could you repeat that?”

Xabi groaned loudly, “Stevie!”

Stevie just blinked and smiled innocently. Xabi sighed and handed over his problem set in defeat. Stevie gave a big whoop of triumph.

“At least get some numbers wrong,” Xabi muttered.

“I always do!” It was Stevie’s turn to be condescending now. “Xabi, I’m a master at this.”

*

“You want some help with that?”

Fernando looked up for a moment and stopped dabbing ice on his bruises. Daniel entered the locker room, fresh from his shower, hair still wet and clothes neatly pressed. Fernando shrugged, “If you want to.”

Daniel gave him a slight nod then sat down on the bench next to him. They glanced at each other reluctantly.

“Come closer,” Dan motioned. Fernando hesitated, suddenly feeling gross. They had just finished a gruelling three-hour training session—Rafa was eager to get them all back into shape before the season started—and he collapsed on the bench as soon as he could. Needless to say, he was unshowered: his hair was stringy and clumping and his clothes were muddy and smelled of sweat.

Dan sighed impatiently, “Jesus, Torres,” then he moved closer to Fernando instead.

The Dane collected a couple of ice cubes from the bowl lying on the floor. Holding it gingerly by his fingertips, he dabbed the ice cube on a violently purple bruise on the Spaniard’s ankle. He sensed Fernando flinched at the cold underneath his touch.

Dan smirked. “Did I do this to you?”

Fernando felt his cheeks burn hotly. “Most of them, yeah,” he answered, pointing to a few gashes on his legs. “These others are from Javier. He was having an off-day today and he kept mistiming his tackles.”

Daniel nodded slowly, then placed the ice cube on a bruise on the back of Fernando’s knee—the Spaniard shuddered. Fernando tried to swallow the lump on his throat, feeling the cooling sensation play along the sensitive skin of his legs, the ice melting and dripping cold water down his thighs.

“Well,” Dan shrugged, running the ice cube in little circles over the bruise, “Sorry?”

“No worries,” Fernando smiled, suppressing the emotions in his voice. “I like it rough.”

*

Fernando yawned and looked around at the full auditorium. The school had flown in an international speaker to talk about the global subprime crisis and the afternoon classes were called off so that everyone could attend the lecture. Too bad it was boring as hell.

“Wait, what is he saying?” Alvaro looked over Fernando’s shoulder to read the notes he had typed on his laptop. “We’re all suffering a recession because people suddenly wanted to buy houses in America??”

Fernando rubbed his eyes sleepily. “Something like that. And then they didn’t pay back their debt or something.”

“Fucking hell,” Alvaro frowned and scribbled a few haphazard lines in his notebook. “What if Mr Hicks gave us an exam or a paper about this talk?”

Fernando’s jaw dropped, “Shit, you think he would?”

Alvaro gave him a wary look, “Yes. You know how big of a dick he is.”

Fernando ran his hands through his long hair in frustration, “Dammit, I keep failing his class.”

“Hey, I haven’t understood anything after the lecture on supply and demand. I think I’m worse off than you,” Alvaro shook his head.

Fernando sighed and gave up, connecting to the school wi-fi to while the hours away. Alvaro looked on jealously, “I should have brought my laptop too.” The dark-haired Spaniard slapped close his notepad and dropped his head on his hands instead. “Wake me up when this is done,” he told the striker.

Fernando nodded absently, checking his email and only partially listening to the speaker drone on. Dozens of students had already gotten ahead of him and were online by the time he logged on to his messenger.

An instant message popped up on his screen.

_D. Agger: Tsk, tsk. Somebody’s not paying attention to the lecture._

Fernando smiled in spite of himself and hastily typed.

_F. Torres: Hello, Kettle. I’d like you to meet Pot.  
D. Agger: Don’t get smart with me.  
D. Agger: And give Alvaro a good shove. I think he’s starting to drool on the desk already._

Fernando’s forehead furrowed and he looked around, wondering where Daniel could be seated if he could see Alvaro.

_F. Torres: Where are you?  
D. Agger: You can’t find me?  
D. Agger: I’m watching you._

Fernando tensed involuntarily.

_F. Torres: Do you intend to sound like a pervert all the time?  
D. Agger: Yes.  
D. Agger: Do you like being watched?_

Fernando shifted uncomfortably. Damn this man. He could imagine Dan now—wherever he was—smirking in that arrogant way, like he did all the time. He enjoyed making Fernando feel uneasy.

_D. Agger: Yeah, Fernando, squirm like that._

Fernando felt his cheeks burn a bright red. Was it just him or was it getting hot in this auditorium?

_D. Agger: You seem edgy.  
D. Agger: Loosen your tie.  
F. Torres: You’d like that, wouldn’t you?  
D. Agger: Yeah.  
D. Agger: Take off your blazer too, while you’re at it._

Fernando swallowed. This was so juvenile. So immature. But it sent the right sensations churning in his gut.

_F. Torres: Fuck you, Daniel.  
D. Agger: Cybersex already? Fast. I didn’t think you had it in you._

“Damn it,” Fernando muttered to himself, hurriedly logging off before another lewd message came in. His fingers shook as they flew over the mouse and the keyboard. He tried to flood his mind with the jargon the lecturer was spouting off, but when he shut his eyes, Daniel’s words kept reverberating in his head.

And then he kept thinking about that time Daniel helped him in the locker room, ice-cold fingers and heated palms, running down his legs, massaging his strained calves and gently tracing his tattoo. He wondered what it would have been like if Daniel was jerkier than usual and had gone further, teasingly darting underneath the flimsy fabric of Fernando’s training shorts. Fernando squirmed in his seat again, his trousers feeling tight as he imagined the warmth of Daniel’s hands stroking at the skin of his thighs.

“Fucking hell,” Fernando cursed, trying to rein in his excitement, but he was too far gone. He stood up, hastily trying to climb over the outstretched legs of the students in his row.

“Sir, may I go to the bathroom, please?” Fernando asked Mr Hicks, who was patrolling the door. The American gave him a suspicious look, and Fernando bounced on his toes impatiently, needing to get out badly. Mr Hicks gave him a nod and a warning, “Be quick, boy.”

Fernando nodded and hurriedly pushed open the auditorium door and striding towards the bathroom on the far end of the corridor. That would be quieter and more private. Or so he thought.

“Shit,” Fernando blurted out loud, finding another person in the bathroom.

“Fernando,” The stranger greeted with surprise as he turned around.

“Harry, hi!” Fernando blabbered, “Sorry, I was just shocked to find you here.”

“Oh, I’m just trying to waste as much time as possible before my professor realizes I’ve been gone for too long.”

Fernando gave him a tight, tense grin.

“...What’s wrong with you?” Harry asked suspiciously. Fernando hadn’t even made a move to go to the urinals or the cubicles.

“What? Nothing, I’m just... Nothing,” Fernando waved his hand dismissively, hoping it would be enough to get Harry to leave him in peace.

No such luck. Harry took a step closer, eyes squinted suspiciously. “I know that look,” Harry said, taking in the slight sheen of sweat covering Fernando’s face, even if the auditorium was freezing air-conditioning.

Fernando’s mouth opened then closed, coming up with nothing to say.

“Are you horny?” Harry demanded.

Fernando cursed under his breath struggling to look for a good answer. But the stirring in his groin was too pressing, that the only thing he could think of was how Harry was the best person to catch him in this predicament.

“Fernando,” a sly smile spread over Harry’s lips.

But before he could complete what he was supposed to say, Fernando had lunged forward and captured Harry’s mouth into a deep, searing kiss. The Australian was taken aback, but he didn’t protest. In fact, he eagerly kissed back after he realized what was happening.

“Harry,” Fernando murmured, voice strained, and Harry cupped his cheeks with both hands, and plunged deeper, thrusting his tongue inside Fernando’s mouth. The Spaniard groaned, letting Harry take the lead. He slowly began to realize why the Australian has been able to easily bang anyone bang-worthy in school.

“Oh, god, Fernando,” Harry panted when they pulled away to catch their breath. “Finally.”

“This is a one-off thing,” Fernando struggled to keep his voice steady. His eyes rolled to the back of his head upon sensing a hot mouth clamp onto his pulse and suck hungrily.

“Do I look like I care?” Harry murmured against Fernando’s skin, making him shiver at the fluttering sensation.

“Harry, someone might see us,” the Spaniard pulled away reluctantly, his eyes still dark and lust-hazy.

“Everyone’s in the auditorium,” Harry said. “Besides, nobody uses this bathroom.”

Fernando bit his lip, still sceptical. Harry grinned, “I have an idea.” He tugged Fernando’s school tie. Fernando followed obediently, and the next thing he knew, Harry gripped his sides and spun him around.

“Wha—” Fernando yelped, his back thudding against the bathroom door.

“That way, no one can walk in on us,” Harry smirked, dipping his head to kiss Fernando again. The Spaniard relented, kissing back just as fervently. Harry took that as a sign of permission, bravely running his hands under Fernando’s blazer and greedily tracing the Spaniard’s abdomen through his shirt. Fernando moaned and pushed deeper into Harry’s exploring touch.

Needing no more encouragement, Harry teasingly untucked Fernando’s shirt and worked at his belt. Fernando’s eyes flew open.

“Harry—” He struggled to think straight and swat his roommate’s hands away from his waist, “Wait, maybe we should—”

“Wow, you’re really not putting out easily, are you?” Harry teased, ignoring Fernando’s protests and finally unbuckled the Spaniard’s belt.

“Harry—” Fernando tried again, but whatever he was about to say died in his lips as he suddenly gasped for air at the light friction of Harry rubbing his crotch against his.

“Fernando, I’m just helping you out,” Harry stopped his movement and gently tucked a wayward strand of hair behind Fernando’s ear. “But if you wannna walk around with a hard-on all day, then just say the word.”

Fernando leaned his head back against the door and tried to get air into his lungs, suddenly missing the feeling of Harry pressed against his arousal.

“Damn it,” he cursed. He checked his watch, he had been gone for too long now and Mr Hicks might start looking for him any moment now. Fernando gritted his teeth, “How quick can you be?”

Harry rolled his hips against Fernando’s again, making the Spaniard groan needily. Harry grinned smugly, “Oh, babe. You’d be surprised.”

*

Xabi threw his shinpads into his locker violently. They had lost today’s five-against-five scrimmage in training—and they didn’t just lose. They got heavily thrashed. The other team had Fernando and he scored a hat-trick against them.

But the real reason why Xabi was pissed wasn’t really because of the defeat. It was because of that.

Stevie and Masch strode into the locker room, still talking animatedly and celebrating their victory.

Xabi tried to listen to Rafa’s post-training reminders, but all he could focus on was hearing his boyfriend and his rival review every play they had succeeded in employing during game. Stevie beamed like the proud captain he was, giving Javier a hearty slap on the back before heading over to approach Xabi by his locker.

“Great run today, eh?” Stevie greeted breathlessly, more out of excitement than fatigue. “God, I can’t wait until the season starts. Babel is lightning-quick and Fernando’s been real class! And man, have you seen Masch? He’s been immense since he got in! That tackle he made on Dirk the other day was massive—”

Xabi gritted his teeth and slammed his locker door loudly.

Stevie stopped, surprised. “Is something wrong?”

The Spaniard glared at him and shook his head. “I’m taking a shower,” Xabi said coolly.

“Xab, wait,” Stevie called after him. Xabi tried to take larger strides, but it wasn’t long before he felt a heavy hand clamp down on his shoulder.

“What?” Xabi snapped impatiently.

“Let’s talk about this outside,” Stevie said steely, looking around and finding the team trying hard to look like they weren’t eavesdropping.

Xabi sighed and contemplated the option of walking away, but sometimes he was too mature for his own good. He followed his captain outside to the tunnel.

“What’s wrong?” Stevie asked, the arrogance and strictness of the captain gone. Now it was just gentleness and concern.

“You do realize that Rafa’s been pairing you up with Masch during warm-up games, right?” Xabi demanded.

“Xabi, it’s just training—”

“No, it’s not just training!” Xabi cut off. “Obviously, he’s doing this to see how your partnership will work with his strategies. And by the way things are going, it looks like he likes how things are playing out.”

“You’re being paranoid,” Stevie tried to comfort the Spaniard. “I’m sure Rafa’s just experimenting right now to find the best formation for the season.”

“Yes, and he’s going to keep the 4-4-2 system, Stevie,” Xabi insisted.

“And he’s going to pick you, Xab,” Stevie replied. “You know you’re Rafa’s favourite. He tells you all the tactics he doesn’t even bother sharing to me! You’re his on-field general.”

“Until Mascherano came along,” Xabi pointed out.

“Masch is great, but he’s been here a month,” Stevie rebutted. “You’re going to get your starts over him!”

“Just a second ago you were full of praises for him,” the Spaniard accused.

Stevie sighed, choosing his words carefully. “Masch is immense. For a new player. But you and your experience and maturity, you can dictate the pace of the game. That’s why Rafa’s easily going to select you over Masch.”

Xabi crossed his arms over his chest and asked levelly. “If you had to choose who to play with, who would it be?”

Stevie’s jaw dropped, “Xabi, you know it’s the manager’s decision—”

“And say the manager asks his captain?” Xabi frowned, not liking Stevie’s hesitation. “Who would you choose?”

Stevie sighed. “Of course I’d choose you, Xabi.”

Xabi didn’t look convinced.

“Look, to prove my point,” Stevie tried again, “The school paper is publishing a season preview and they’ve been nagging me for an interview with anyone in the team. You should do it.”

Xabi scowled, “Stevie, are you only doing this to make me feel better?”

“Xabi, as your captain and as your boyfriend, I’m telling you to go do it.”

Xabi sighed and the frown on his face eased. “I suppose I could.”

“Good.” Stevie asked carefully. He was never good at words, “Are you feeling better now?”

Xabi allowed himself a small smile and nodded, “Thanks, Stevie.”

Stevie smiled in return, looking relieved. He checked the tunnel carefully to make sure no one was approaching, before pressing a kiss against Xabi’s temple. When he pulled away, Xabi was looking considerably more light-hearted.

“Now come on inside, Alonso. The others will be curious about what’s happened to us.”

Xabi thought, “We could stay out here a little while longer. Make them debate about whether we’re breaking up or making out.”

Stevie laughed, “Good one.” He dropped to the floor and stretched out his aching legs, Xabi following suit a few seconds later.

*

Xabi softly knocked on the door of the journalism room. A mousy looking girl answered and gave him a questioning look. It wasn’t every day the jocks strayed off to this side of the campus.

“Hi, I’m here for the interview?” Xabi asked unsurely.

The girl gave him a once-over and opened the door wider. “Harry, your interviewee’s here!”

Xabi paused on his way in the office. “Harry??”

Harry stood up from his desk, sleeves rolled up haphazardly, pencil behind his ear. “Xabi!” The Australian’s face broke into that well-worn grin and he almost knocked over his staffmates coming up to Xabi. Harry threw his arms around Xabi and pulled him into a tight hug. He still smelled of sunshine and sex, Xabi thought to himself. And it wasn’t until they broke away that Xabi realized he was holding in his breath excitedly.

“God, Xabi, I haven’t seen you in so long!” Harry greeted happily.

Xabi smiled back stupidly, “I didn’t know you were working for the school paper!”

“Sports fucking editor,” Harry beamed proudly.

“Congratulations!” Xabi laughed and followed him to Harry’s desk.

“This is such great news,” Harry said, pulling up a chair for the Spaniard. “Stevie told me he’d be doing the interview, so I didn’t expect you would be here. If I had known, I’d have fixed up a bit, asked if we could do it over dinner...” Harry rambled nervously. Harry fucking Kewell, the biggest dicktease on campus, a puddle of goo when face to face with the school star student. It was embarrassing, really.

Xabi shook his head good-naturedly, “No, no, this is fine.”

“Let me just prepare my recorder, then let’s get started,” Harry said, hands suddenly uncoordinated as he clumsily sifted through his cluttered desk for the missing gadget.

“You know,” Xabi began softly. “You never did come back to the team.”

Harry froze halfway through pulling open a drawer. “Yeah, well,” he stammered, determinedly not looking at the Spaniard, “I was sidelined for a long time.”

“But?” Xabi prodded.

“And I can’t play if, half the time, I’m afraid of getting injured again,” Harry shrugged, but it was obviously a touchy subject.

“Well, we need wingers in the team, you know. And training has only just started recently. I’m sure you could catch up. Rafa loves you!”

Harry laughed drily, “I don’t think so.”

Xabi frowned. Harry explained more diplomatically, “Maybe I’m over it already, I don’t know. Besides, I’ve got the school paper now, and I like doing the journalist work here.”

Xabi nodded slowly, slightly disappointed, “Okay, then.”

“Why do you ask?” Harry questioned brightly, eager to change to a lighter topic. “Do you miss me already, Alonso?”

Xabi laughed and silently wished he wasn’t blushing as he answered, “The whole team does.”

“...Do you?” Harry nagged, eyebrows wiggling.

Xabi shoved him playfully. “Dammit, Kewell. Is this part of the interview already?”

“A-HA!” Harry waved the recorder in the air triumphantly, wedged in between a stack of papers and books.

Xabi found himself giggling, even if it was downright not funny. But he always loved hanging out with Harry—he was always so laid-back, so carefree. Something Xabi desperately needed most of the time.

“I have a proposal,” Harry’s voice sliced through his thoughts. “Let’s just get this interview out of the way, then let’s have coffee or something. We need to catch up.”

Xabi bit his lip reluctantly. “Stevie and I usually meet up together—”

“Yeah, yeah,” Harry rolled his eyes. “It’s always about Captain Steven Gerrard with you.”

Xabi’s jaw dropped, “Hey, that’s not true.”

The previously amicable atmosphere suddenly turned very tense, and it almost seemed like they were harking back to the same rift they had a year ago.

“Knock, knock,” a voice piped up.

The two both looked up, surprised, as if they had been caught doing something they shouldn’t have.

“Harry, do you need—Oh, Xabi, hi!” Fernando waved at the midfielder, grinning but obviously confused at the situation he had had inadvertently walked in on.

“Uh, can you excuse me for a second? I just need to talk to Fernando in private,” Harry said, and Xabi could only look on in irritation as he walked out with the young striker.

*

“That was some crazy tension,” Fernando crossed his arms over his chest and regarded his roommate with narrowed eyes.

“Shhh,” Harry hissed, looking over to his desk. Xabi was only a few metres away.

“So something _is_ up!”

“What? Nothing is up,” Harry refuted vehemently. He dropped his voice a notch, “Just... don’t mention this to Stevie.”

Fernando raised an eyebrow. Harry pleaded, “Come on, Fernando, help me out here.”

The Spaniard sighed, “Fine, fine. As long as you don’t tell Xabi I let you jack me off in the toilets.”

“No problem,” Harry laughed, relieved. “Say, you never did tell me. Who got you so hot and bothered anyway?”

Fernando blushed. “No one.”

“Come on, I at least deserve to know who you were thinking of when I so gallantly gave you a handjob,” Harry snickered to himself.

“Fuck it,” Fernando burned a brighter pink. “It was Daniel Agger, okay?”

“Daniel Agger?” Harry demanded.

“Tall, Danish, angry?” Fernando asked, already fearing Harry’s response.

But the Australian just laughed and paused to think. “It could work.”

“What?” Fernando asked, horrified.

“I can imagine you guys having hot, angry sex,” Harry said, grinning widely. “I approve!”

*

“So, you’ve met Fernando,” Xabi greeted wryly, sitting atop Harry’s desk. Harry almost died at the nagging thoughts of kinky, office sex.

“Yeah,” Harry said, shoving his hands in his pockets. “We’re roommates in the dormitory.”

“Oh, really?” Xabi looked mildly surprised. “Roommates, eh? That must be... fun.”

“Of course it is,” Harry laughed slyly, knowing what Xabi was implying and letting the Spaniard think what he wanted.

“So, have you...?” Xabi trailed off and Harry just smiled a smile pregnant with meaning, but he said nothing else.

Xabi pouted, busying himself with letting his fingers trace the wood of Harry’s desk so he wouldn’t have to meet the Australian’s gaze head-on. When he looked up, Harry had already closed the distance between them, his hands resting on Xabi’s knees.

“Don’t worry, Alonso,” Harry said, his words soft and teasing, his breath blowing against the side of Xabi’s face, “Of course, you’re still my favourite Spaniard.”


	4. Boys do fall in love

“From this point onward,” Mr Ferguson rapped his knuckles harshly on the blackboard to catch everyone’s attention, “Everything we do for this class will be in pairs. Please partner off and submit your names to me by tomorrow.”

Fernando was just about to poke Pepe away to tell him what their History teacher just said, but Dan was quick to act. Grabbing the striker by the elbow, he forced Fernando to look at him.

“What?” Fernando asked, startled.

“You want to pair up?” Dan asked as nonchalantly as he could.

Fernando raised an eyebrow and tried to stifle the smug smile. “You want me so bad, Agger.”

Dan’s cheeks burned a bright red. “I do not!”

“You tried to seduce me online.”

“Which worked—I mean, no, I would do no such thing.”

“And now, you’re trying to get me to be your partner,” Fernando wiggled his eyebrows.

Mr Ferguson coughed loudly, glaring at them warningly. Fernando clammed up and buried his nose in his History textbook. A few seconds later, he jumped, feeling Dan poke his side with his pen. Fernando threw him a dirty look.

Dan shrugged and whispered, “In my defense, I only invited you to be my partner because I was thinking that it would be easier for the both of us since we have the same after-school activities. There won’t be any schedule conflicts when we set up group meetings.”

Fernando hissed back softly, “Oh yeah? Why didn’t you ask Pepe?”

“Look, if you really don’t want to, then I will,” Dan snapped in annoyance.

Fernando didn’t buy it one bit. “Don’t be such a fucking prima donna, Agger. It doesn’t suit you.”

Dan scowled at the Spaniard and pointedly swivelled around in his seat so his back was to Fernando. All throughout the remaining part of the class, he focused attentively on the board no matter how many times Fernando kicked him under the desk, threw his ballpen cap at him or even called him underneath his breath.

Finally, the bell rang and all the students hurriedly stood up on cue, the cacophony of chairs scratching floors and books being packed overpowering Mr Ferguson struggling to cram last-minute announcements in front.

“Wha—What happened?” Pepe jolted awake at the sudden noise.

Fernando looked down at his half-dazed compatriot. “Class is over, Pepe.”

The goalkeeper scratched his bald head lazily. “What did I miss?”

“We’re working in pairs from now on,” Dan said over Fernando’s shoulder.

“Cool. Less work!” Pepe nodded at the blonde striker, “Hey, Fernando, do you want to team up?”

Fernando paused—looked at Daniel suddenly completely focused on picking at his nails. And against his better judgment and with a slight flutter in his stomach, Fernando smiled apologetically. “Uh, sorry, Pepe,” Fernando shot Dan a meaningful glance. “Dan and I paired off already.”

Pepe’s jaw dropped. “You traitors!”

Fernando grinned sheepishly, “You were asleep!”

Dan’s face broke into a smile too, casually slinging an arm around Fernando’s shoulders, “Oh, let it be, Pepe. You know Fernando has been lusting after me since the start of the school year.”

Pepe cracked up and started laughing.

“Excuse me, Dan asked me first,” Fernando protested, acutely aware of the exact spot on his neck where Dan’s arm pressed against it.

“Fernando, I knew that you were too shy to really do anything about your burning desire,” Pepe cracked up harder as Dan pat Fernando’s shoulder consolingly, “So I took the initiative to take the first step.”

“Oh, Dan, your dominance sweeps me off my feet!” Fernando answered sarcastically.

“Of course,” Dan shrugged smugly. “Rule #1 in our partnership: I top you in bed.”

Pepe stopped laughing abruptly, his eyes bulging out. “Okay, this is just gross. I’m leaving.” He held up his hands and walked away backwards.

“What?” Fernando asked innocently.

“You’re worse than Xabi and Stevie!” Pepe yelled at them before darting out of the room and into the busy corridor.

Sudden silence dawned as the goalkeeper left and his comment hung awkwardly in the air. Dan and Fernando exchanged uneasy glances.

“I’m sure Pepe meant that in this friendly sense, of course—” Fernando stammered, “Like, Stevie and Xabi as friends.”

“Yeah, yeah, sure,” Dan blabbered back unsurely. “Or even, Stevie and Xabi as teammates. Because, I mean, it’s not like we’re really friends. I mean... we’re just History partners.”

Fernando snapped his fingers, “Exactly! History partners.”

They stopped talking again, looking everywhere but each other.

“So!” Fernando spoke up brightly after an awkward 10-second pause. “I better leave and go to my next class.”

“Yeah, as much as History is important—and not just because we’re together here,” Dan hurriedly corrected, waving his hands uncontrollably to gesture, “—You’d better get to your English class.”

Fernando stopped halfway out the room and turned around slowly. He asked, a silly smirk playing on his lips. “How do you know my next class is English?”

Dan gaped, blushed, then waved off the comment dismissively. “Of course I know your class schedule.” His face broke into a familiar smirk, “I want you bad, remember?”

*

“Xabi,” Steve purred against his ear, making the Spaniard look up distractedly. “Come on, you’ve been reading that chapter for an hour now!”

Xabi sighed, torn between Stevie and his History book. “It’s just three more pages.”

“Chemistry’s not til the afternoon. You can read that tomorrow over lunch,” Stevie nagged, turning Xabi’s desk chair around so he was face-to-face with his boyfriend.

Xabi bit his lip, “I don’t know...”

“Xabi!” Stevie pleaded, already playing with Xabi’s collar, fingers “accidentally” brushing against the Spaniard’s neck every once in a while. “I miss you already.”

“We’re together every day, Stevie,” Xabi laughed.

“Yeah, but today’s the only day Mikel’s out of town,” Stevie said simply, popping open the top button of Xabi’s uniform.

“Oh.” Xabi hesitated, before his eyes widened in realization and his cheeks burned a bright red. “Oh.”

“Exactly,” Stevie beamed at him, moving to straddle Xabi on the desk. He heard his breath hitch at the sudden contact and pressure. Stevie grinned wider before placing a quick kiss on Xabi’s lips.

Xabi was purring contentedly when they broke away. Leaning forehead against forehead, Xabi asked, “Are you staying over?”

“Yes, that was the general plan,” Stevie smiled wickedly, excitement already coursing through his veins. It had been too long since they last really slept together. But Xabi was more hesitant, reaching for his planner, “But, I think I still have a bit of work to do—”

Stevie grunted impatiently before snatching the planner out of Xabi’s hands and tossing it haphazardly on the floor, “There’s nothing you need to do for tomorrow anymore.”

Xabi made a move to retrieve his discarded planner again, but Stevie clenched his legs around his thighs tightly. –Stevie, after all, had strong legs. Hot, strong legs with well-cut muscles and a sexy layer of hair. Xabi groaned. Now his body was responding to Stevie.

Xabi’s mind went into overdrive. Technically speaking, he has spent too much time studying and maybe—just maybe—he deserved this break. And what could be more relaxing than letting Stevie fuck him in his bed, where they could take as long as they wanted and be as loud as they wanted because, for a change, the house was theirs to have.

Stevie placed light kisses along his jaw, and Xabi’s eyes fluttered closed, internally giving up his fight for the losing battle.

“All night you say?” Xabi asked, tugging at the hem of Stevie’s shirt.

Stevie grinned, “All night.” He lifted his arms so Xabi could pull off his shirt, before climbing down to his feet, pulling up Xabi with him.

“It’s been too long, Alonso,” Stevie said in between feverish kisses as they clumsily made it to the bed. “Get ready for the fucking of your life.”

*

The fucking of his life that was, Xabi moaned tiredly to himself, resting his head on the cool wood of his desk, his eyes immediately dropping closed. His limbs felt heavy, his legs were aching and his ass hurt. And it was 8 in the bloody morning with Advanced Algebra about to start.

“All right, quiet down, class,” Mr Moyes flew into the room, a stack of papers in his hand. Stevie—looking half-asleep, half-dazed, but completely and utterly fulfilled—was right behind him, obviously trying to creep into the classroom without looking like he was late. He shot Xabi a quick grin, before taking a seat in the back.

Xabi’s forehead furrowed. Stevie always sat next to him in every class. He only sat in the back whenever—

“Okay, class, put your books away. I just want to see your ballpens and your calculators.”

Xabi immediately bent down to check his planner and sure enough, under this date, written in bright red ink was ‘Advanced Algebra Long Exam!!!’

“No frickin’ way,” Xabi muttered under his breath, blood running cold in his veins. He turned in his seat to look at Stevie, who was already deep in conversation with Carra who was next to him. No doubt, they were already planning how they would share answers.

Xabi gritted his teeth, livid with himself. How did he not remember that they had a long exam today?! And Advanced Algebra wasn’t even his best subject! He tried to sneak a quick peek in his notebook, but Mr Moyes stood in front of him and cleared his throat loudly.

Xabi looked up nervously. Mr Moyes shook his head sternly and motioned for the notes to be kept away. Xabi sighed and hung his head, dutifully returning his notebook inside his book bag and bringing out his calculator. Mr Moyes handed him the questionnaire and skimming through it, Xabi wanted to die.

There was a fair few that Xabi still remembered, but since it was a comprehensive exam covering a good part of the first two months in school, there were so many things that Xabi didn’t remember. Formulas, descriptions and definitions that flew out of his head and suddenly, his mind was like a sieve. And the twinge in his legs and his heavy, sleepless head did nothing to help his situation.

Steeling himself and making a quick sign of the cross for good luck, Xabi read question no.1 and began the exam with an uneasy churning in his stomach.

*

“Bloody hell, my brain hurt from that test!” Stevie ranted when Mr Moyes dismissed them. Xabi didn’t reply. He just placed a hand on Stevie’s arm, making him wait for the class to leave the room.

“What? More?” Stevie wiggled his eyebrows. “I’ve always wanted to have sex in a classroom.”

Xabi scowled, ignoring the dig. “Did you know there would be an exam today?”

“Yeah?” Stevie answered as if it were strangest question he’s been asked. “It’s kind of a big deal because Advanced Algebra isn’t really my strongpoint, you know.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Xabi demanded, voice tight.

“Since when was I the paragon of academic excellence in this relationship?” Stevie rolled his eyes impatiently. “Now tell me what you thought of the exam! I kind of studied a bit on the way to school, and I’m proud that I actually understood some of the questions. But when I got to the logarithm part, I just gave up.”

Xabi gritted his teeth and turned around, pretending to busy himself with fixing his things to shut Stevie’s endless chattering.

“I mean, what’s a logarithm anyway? It’s not even like addition or subtraction, but it has, like, it’s own button in the calculator. How strange is that?”

“Stop!” Xabi threw his hands up in the air and exploded. “Stop it, stop it. I don’t want to talk about that fucking exam anymore!”

Stevie was taken aback. “Jesus, Xabi, surely it couldn’t have been that bad.”

“Yes, it was!” Xabi cried out helplessly. “Stevie, I completely forgot the exam was today. I knew nothing.”

Stevie’s eyes widened and his mouth snapped shut.

“I can’t believe you didn’t even remind me! We were together the whole time last night!” 

“Hey!” Stevie’s jaw dropped. “How was I supposed to know?”

“You told me there was nothing else I needed to study!” Xabi accused hurtfully.

“Since when did you trust me for academic advice?” Stevie protested. “I just told you that so you would take a break from studying and we could spend time together.”

“Yeah, and you fucked the living daylights out of me, I couldn’t even understand half the questions in the exam.”

“So, it’s my fault?” Stevie crossed his arms over his chest defensively.

“No!” Xabi sighed and tried to re-explain, “You should have just at least reminded me. That way we could have stopped fooling around last night and I could focus on more urgent things.”

Stevie scoffed, “You would have chosen _Advanced Algebra_ over me??”

“Yes,” Xabi said without blinking.

Stevie shook his head in disbelief, but he chose to ignore the remark instead. “Come on, Xabi, let it go.”

“No,” Xabi pouted, still remaining rooted in the spot.

“Stop whining,” Stevie snapped.

“Look, maybe it’s not important for you because you can just cheat with Carra whenever you see fit, but some of us actually think studying is important,” Xabi retorted.

Stevie’s gaze turned cold. “Foul. I’m ending this conversation.”

“Oh, come on, Stevie—” Xabi tried to interject and Stevie couldn’t decipher if Xabi was going to apologize or make a joke of his remark or worse, even defend it. But he decided he didn’t want to know anymore. Hitching his bag up his shoulder and nodding towards the door, he just waved at Xabi, “I’m going. I’m late for class.”

*

“Where are the others?” Fernando plopped down on the courtyard next to Daniel, carefully setting down his lunch tray on the grass.

Daniel shrugged distractedly as he busied himself with poking Fernando’s food with a fork. “What is this? It looks like something died and fell into the pot while the cafeteria ladies weren’t looking.”

“Thanks a lot,” Fernando snatched the fork away from the defender. “It was either this or the ground beef.”

Daniel gave another look at the unknown mass covered in a thick layer of what must be gravy. “I’d take ground beef if I were you.”

“Yeah, the ground beef that looks strangely like the hamburgers left over from last week,” Fernando pointed out.

“Nasty. Point taken.”

Fernando held back a shudder as he tried his luck stirring the crusty mashed potatoes.

Dan coughed. “You want to split my sandwich instead?”

Fernando looked up in time to see Dan halving his BLT. He laughed awkwardly, “You don’t really have to. I figure if I haven’t died from food poisoning in the past few months, I can handle this.”

Dan waved him away, “Come on.” He handed Fernando half his sandwich, “I’ll split you my lunch. Split your Gatorade with me.”

Fernando grinned as he shyly took Dan’s offer. “Deal.”

Dan opened Fernando’s Gatorade and took a long swig, before smacking his lips contentedly. “That hits the spot. It’s been too hot today.”

Fernando took the bottle from him and gulped down the drink too, only to stop halfway to spit it out.

“You’re gross, Torres.”

“Agger!” Fernando wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve. “Did you smoke before lunch??” He demanded.

“Oh. Yeah.” Daniel grinned sheepishly. “Sorry?”

Fernando shook his head and gingerly took another sip of the Gatorade. He crinkled his nose after swallowing and held the drink away. “You can have it. It tastes terrible now.”

Dan rolled his eyes but happily took the drink for himself.

Fernando stuck out a bright yellow tongue and shuddered again. “So that’s what it’s like to kiss a smoker.”

Dan’s sandwich stopped halfway to his mouth. He smirked smugly, “Babe, the real thing’s so much better.”

“Really now?” Fernando blushed, and he found himself inexplicably licking his lips. “Are you proposing a demonstration?”

Dan smiled, inching his face closer, eyes fixated on Fernando’s tongue slowly wetting those pale pink lips. “Maybe.”

“Hey guys! We’ve been looking everywhere for you!”

Daniel and Fernando jumped a meter apart.

Crouch cried out excitedly before easing himself between his two teammates, “Oh, wow, Gatorade! I’m roasting!—Pfft! What the hell? Who smoked and drank from this??”

*

“Heading out to lunch?”

Xabi’s eyes widened. He knew that voice. Taking a deep breath to regain his composure, he took his time putting his books into his locker. Then, he turned around and put on a pleasantly surprised smile, “Harry! I don’t usually see you around this area.”

The Australian smiled brightly back at him. “Yeah, my locker’s at the opposite side of the building, but I thought I’d wander out of my way to check if I’d bump into you.”

Xabi’s cheeks felt warm as he shifted nervously from foot to foot. “It’s nice to see you.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“W-what question?” Xabi stammered, and he wondered why he couldn’t keep a normal, intelligent conversation all of a sudden.

“Out to lunch?” Harry winked, and Xabi thought he suddenly knew what it was like to be a female freshman charmed by the popular senior heartthrob.

“No, I thought of going to the library to catch up on some reading I have to do.” Xabi frowned and mumbled, “I failed my Advanced Algebra exam today.” Xabi cringed and prepared himself for the shocked (“What? How could you flunk that??”) or patronizing (“You’re exaggerating, you always get As.”) comments he usually got today. But Harry just shrugged and squeezed his shoulder, “Tough luck. You want help?”

Xabi found himself grinning in spite of himself. “You’re going to help me?”

Harry laughed, “You want to know a secret?”

Xabi nodded, and Harry motioned for him to come closer. Xabi obeyed until he was only inches away, smelling the cool scent of Harry’s aftershave.

“I almost joined the Mathletes last year,” Harry whispered.

“No way,” Xabi pulled away, eyes wide and twinkling.

Harry nodded, looking slightly embarrassed.

“No way!” Xabi yelped again. “Mathletes are usually big, ugly dorks.” Xabi gasped and clapped a hand over his mouth. But Harry just blushed, which was probably a first for him. Girls (and guys) have fawned over him countless times before, it had lost all effect on him. But when Xabi gave him even the most backhanded of compliments, it felt like his insides turned into goo. It was a pretty nice feeling.

Harry took a deep breath and willed for himself to act unaffected. “So, what do you think? I can be a pretty good tutor.”

Xabi raised his eyebrows and casually leaned back against his locker. He met Harry’s gaze head-on. “I guess so Tonight?”

Harry smiled, restraining himself from pumping his fist into the air. “Sure thing.”

Xabi opened his mouth to reply, but the words died on his lips when Harry reached out and plucked the pen from Xabi’s blazer pocket and scribbled “Room A311” on Xabi’s palm.

“My dorm room, 8 PM, Alonso,” Harry walked away, raising a hand to wave a quick goodbye, leaving a stunned Xabi propped up on the bank of lockers.

“Hey, Xabi, there you are!” Stevie called out, rounding a corner and jogging up to the Basque. Xabi jumped up, his heart pounding as if he had almost been caught doing something wrong.

“Are you going out to lunch?” The Scouser offered a tentative smile. He was unsure if Xabi was still holding grudges about their argument this morning.

“Well, I was supposed to go to the library over the break.” Xabi relented after a tiny guilty voice kept nagging at the back of his head, “But I guess I could hang around for a while first.”

“Great,” Stevie grinned, relieved. Xabi and Stevie walked down the corridor and out into the courtyard where their teammates were sprawled lazily across the grass. Carra was already as red as a tomato, sweating buckets. Fernando was joking with Alvaro about stripping so they could catch their much-needed tans and Dan, who sat beside them, was obviously blushing and doing his best to look unaffected.

“If it ain’t the two lovebirds!” Kuyt heckled once Stevie and Xabi came up the hill.

Stevie and Xabi shifted awkwardly.

“Nah, stop teasing them, Dirk. They just got into a fight this morning,” Crouch winked at Stevie.

Xabi’s jaw dropped. “You told him?”

“No!”

“Oh, relax,” Crouch intervened. “It was just too obvious.”

“Yeah, you weren’t walking each other to class,” Penns kidded.

“And Stevie was more miserable than usual,” Carra added.

“And the sun wasn’t out and the birds weren’t a-chirping,” Kuyt nodded seriously.

Stevie and Xabi exchanged glances.

“I really am sorry for what happened this morning,” Stevie mumbled sheepishly, looking everywhere but Xabi’s eyes.

“No, it’s okay. It’s my fault,” Xabi whispered back.

Penns pelted the pair with an orange rind. “Oy, stop it you two.”

“We were just bloody talking, you twat!”

“Oh, stop it. We all know you two are too steady to really fight with each other,” Kuyt waved them off.

“I bet they just fight to give a little drama to their relationship,” Crouch rolled his eyes.

“Or, or, or, to give them an excuse to have make-up sex!” Carra piped up excitedly.

Stevie and Xabi froze, horrified, and so did the rest of the team.

“Okay, I just lost my appetite,” Dan dropped his half-eaten sandwich back to his paper bag.

“What? You were all thinking it!”

“You said it,” Riise shot back at the defender. “Carra, if anyone else in the team made that comment, it would be fine.”

“Hey!” Carra protested.

“Nothing can make a case for abstinence than Carra making a gay sex joke,” Finns said, shuddering.

“When I tell you all to stop making out with each other, you all call me a prude!”

“Yeah, and we like you as an uptight ass.” Danny pat Carra’s shoulder consolingly.

“It’s even more exciting to have locker room sex when there’s a danger of Carra walking in on you, screaming his head off,” Xabi grinned wickedly.

Stevie added devilishly, “Yeah, Xabi and I even have a game of how far we can go without—”

“Stop!” Carra pressed his hands against his ears, “Stop, none of that... that obscenity!”

“Ah, Carra!” Crouch slapped the defender’s back heartily, “You’re back!”

While Carra started mumbling to himself about early retirement, Xabi and Stevie sat down on the grass next to the others.

“So, you wanna hang tonight?” Stevie began.

“A couple of us are watching an old movie down at the cinema for extra credit,” Pepe suggested. “That might be your thing, Xabs.”

“Yeah, I heard about that too. Is this for Fergie’s History class?” Stevie asked.

Pepe nodded, “Me, Alvie, Dan and Nando are catching the flick. Join us?”

Stevie looked at Xabi expectantly, but the Basque hesitantly shook his head. “I can’t tonight.”

“Why not?” Stevie frowned.

“I... I have a tutorial.”

“What?” Dan butted in.

“It’s for Advanced Algebra. I’m having a really hard time with it,” Xabi answered defensively.

“Okay then,” Stevie said, not really eager to stir up another conflict. He gave changed the topic and asked brightly, “So, who’d you get to tutor you?”

The question caught Xabi off-guard, he ended up choking on his water.

“Are you okay?” Stevie pat his back in concern. Xabi rasped, “I’m fine, I’m fine. I just...” The others looked at him strangely. He continued, “I just got some classmate of mine to give me a few lessons, that’s all.”

“Really? Who?” Finns asked nonchalantly.

Xabi wiped his mouth with the back of his palm, and he thought he saw Fernando squint at him curiously. Then, he realized Harry had scrawled his dorm room number on his hand a while ago. He quickly put his hands down and clasped them together.

“Uh,” Xabi stammered, “Just some random Mathlete?”

“Cool. At least I won’t have to worry who you’re spending late nights with.” Stevie laughed, causing Xabi to tense even more.

“Of course,” Xabi forced an airy laugh, ignoring the dirty look Fernando was giving him. “You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

*

“Going out? On a school night?” Harry blocked the door, hands on his hips.

Fernando rolled his eyes, “Yes, father.”

“And where, may I ask, are you going?” Harry grinned mischievously. “Because if it’s not to get laid, I will be very disappointed in you.”

Fernando felt a blush creeping up his neck as he retorted defensively, “I’m just watching a movie for extra credit in History.”

“You know, I’ve always had a thing for sex in cinemas, but I’ve never tried it,” Harry rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

“It’s for school! I have a paper on it and everything!”

Harry closed the distance between them and pat Fernando’s shoulder patronizingly, “Fernando, Fernando. You’re a very bad liar.”

“But it’s true!” The Spaniard pouted, and Harry had to laugh. “I’m not saying it’s not for your History class. I’m just saying I know you’re hoping to get some tonight too.”

Fernando flipped a finger at Harry and busied himself with changing into some proper clothes.

“I assume Daniel’s going with you tonight?” Harry asked in a singsong voice, plopping down on Fernando’s bed.

“Pepe’s going too,” Fernando interrupted, jumping into his best denim jeans.

“What?” Harry demanded. “Why??”

“Because he’s our classmate,” Fernando turned around and gave Harry a withering glance, before slipping on a well-worn Nike shirt.

“Number one, Fernando, don’t you know anything? You don’t invite some random guy when you hang out with your prospect. That’s insane! I mean, unless you were hoping for a threesome, it’s not—”

“Ew, Harry!” Fernando threw his dirty shirt at his roommate. “The image of having sex with Reina is just too much.”

“And secondly,” Harry raised his hand, continuing as if he had never been interrupted, “If you really want to get any tonight, you don’t wear Nike.”

Fernando’s cheeks burned a bright red, “How many times do I have to tell you that I’m only going out for purely academic purposes?” Nevertheless, Harry still caught the striker looking down at his shirt self-consciously.

Harry shook his head and pushed past Fernando to rummage through his closet. After a few minutes of toppling over Fernando’s neatly-stacked shirts, he handed Fernando a thin black shirt he hadn’t worn in months because it had started to become too tight on him.

“Well?” Harry thrust the shirt at him expectantly. Fernando raised his eyebrows and crossed his arms over his chest adamantly.

“I hear Daniel gives a good blowjob.”

Fernando’s eyes almost bulged out of its sockets. Harry laughed out loud, “Too easy.”

Fernando gritted his teeth and glared at the Australian, but snatched the shirt from him anyway. After removing his beloved sports shirt and wearing Harry’s pick, his roommate finally nodded approvingly.

“Happy?” Fernando asked sullenly, holding his arms out so Harry could inspect him.

“Very. If Daniel doesn’t tap that, I would.”

Fernando blushed and took his phone and wallet from his desk. “Alright, I’m heading out. How about you?”

Harry played with Fernando’s bedsheets. “Oh, nothing. I’m just staying in tonight.”

“No chance of a certain Xabi Alonso dropping by?”

Harry opened his mouth, paused and thought. “Only for Advanced Algebra.”

“Harry!” Fernando admonished. “You realise he’s almost married to Stevie, right?”

“Of course I know that!” Harry sat up and snapped back crossly. He took a deep breath to calm himself down, “Sorry.”

“Yeah, no problem.” Fernando nodded slowly and moved for the door. Throwing his roommate one last concerned look, he said, “Just... be careful.”

Harry groaned and let himself fall back down on Fernando’s bed. He was royally screwed.

*

“Jesus, it’s packed,” Alvie cursed as the foursome entered the cinema. The movie wasn’t going to start for a good ten minutes, but almost all the seats were already taken.

“There are two over there,” Dan pointed to a couple of empty seats near the middle of the theatre.

“I claim one!” Pepe raised his hand immediately.

“Hey, I saw them first!” Dan shoved the goalkeeper.

“You guys left me partner-less. I think I get special privileges, yeah?” Pepe shot back smugly.

“Wanker,” Dan muttered under his breath.

“Oy, I heard that, Agger,” Pepe slapped him up the back of his head. “Now come on, let’s get those seats.” Pepe walked down the steps. Alvaro, Fernando and Daniel exchanged glances.

“You can go sit with Pepe, Alvie,” Fernando suggested.

Alvaro raised his eyebrows, “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, we’ll be fine,” Dan answered, stifling a giddy smile.

“Every time the two of you are left together, you end up fighting and nearly killing each other,” Alvaro pointed out wryly.

“Fernando promises he’ll behave,” Dan winked, slinging an arm around Fernando’s waist and tugging him close. Fernando squirmed, feeling Daniel’s tight grip around him.

“Well, what are you waiting for, la?” Pepe hollered, a few rows down already. “Come on, Arbeloa. I don’t wanna sit with either of those two. They’re always yapping.”

“Go on, Alvaro. You wouldn’t want Pepe to throw a hissy fit, would you?” Fernando prodded, still not moving away from Daniel’s half-embrace.

Throwing one last reluctant glance at the two, Alvaro went ahead and joined an impatient Pepe.

“Well, that was easy,” Dan grinned down at Fernando, still nestled next to him.

“Not bad,” Fernando agreed, nodding triumphantly.

“Now come on, before the movie starts,” Dan said, as the lights turned down and the cinema was basked in darkness. Fernando nodded and blindly tried to go up the stairs. A second later, he felt Daniel’s hand clasp tightly around his.

“Follow me,” Dan said somewhere in front of him, but Fernando was too distracted at the thought of Daniel actually holding his hand.

“Over here,” Dan said, guiding Fernando. “There are a couple of seats at the backmost row.”

Fernando nodded and they clumsily climbed over people’s legs before tiredly plopping down on the nearest vacant seat.

“Well, move farther down,” Dan said, pulling Fernando back up and making his way to the darkest corner of the moviehouse.

“Why?” Fernando found himself whining. He wanted to sit down already for goodness’ sake.

“Don’t you want some privacy?” Dan whispered hotly against his ear. Fernando’s mind literally shut down at that point as he followed Daniel dizzily down the row and to the most isolated seats in the crook of the wall.

“Happy?” Fernando asked the defender as he sat down.

Dan took the seat next to him, “Not quite.” He pushed up the armrest between them before smirking at Fernando, “Now, I’m happy.”

Fernando’s heart banged against his ribcage wildly. He tried to keep his concentration on the screen in front of him. The opening credits were now rolling and some schmaltzy music startled cackling in the background. But in the corner of his eye, he could catch Dan twisting in his seat and pointedly facing him.

“You look different out of your school uniform.” Dan murmured softly, and Fernando didn’t know why he could hear him clearly over the blaring sounds of the film. And then he jumped out of his skin, when he felt nimble fingers playfully skimming over the front of his shirt.

“Uh,” Fernando gulped, trying to sound nonchalant. “This is just some old shirt I put on because I was in a hurry.”

“Really?” Dan was inches away from his jaw, Fernando could feel it even without looking. He could sense him smirk against his skin, “You look like you want to be fucked in it. Not that I’m complaining, of course.”

Now, Fernando had to look. “Dan, the movie...”

Dan raised a hand and tilted the Spaniard’s face to the side so they were eye to eye. “Fernando,” he was saying, fingers playing with Fernando’s hair, “You _really_ want to watch that movie?”

The striker’s mouth ran dry, which was a bad time with Dan looming just centimetres away from him. He was so near, he could taste him—strong and heady.

“Brilliant! We still caught the first scene, Stevie!”

And not for the first time that day, they both pulled apart in shock at the interruption.

“Fucking hell. Finns?” Dan demanded.

“Oh, hey, Dan!” The Irishman plopped down on the seat next to him. “I didn’t recognize you guys. Stevie’s here too,” Finns jutted his thumb behind him and they all turned to see the Scouser pushing people away in irritation as he struggled to get to a seat.

“Finns, you bloody had to choose the farthest—Daniel?” Stevie asked incredulously. “Fernando??”

“I know, right! I knew you guys were watching the movie for class too, but who would have thought we would sit _next to each other_?” Finns laughed.

“Wow, it’s like one big fucking reunion,” Dan grumbled in his seat.

“Joy,” Fernando added, rolling his eyes and plastering a big, tight smile on his face.

“I knew there was a reason why we bought too much food!” Finns clapped Stevie’s shoulder.

Stevie nodded, not wasting time opening their purchases, “Now, who wants Twinkies?”

Dan and Fernando exchanged withering glances.

Dan slumped down in his seat grumpily, “So much for privacy.”

“Twinkies, anyone?” Stevie waved the box around and rattled its contents. “I also have Milk Duds! Finns, pass those two some Milk Duds, they look famished.”


	5. I kiss you all starry-eyed

Harry broke a lot of his rules for Xabi.

_Rule #1: Go for the kill. (Because it’s impossible for your prospect to think twice when you’re already grinding on top of him.)_

Xabi cradled his head in his hands as he absentmindedly tugged at his hair while studying the matrices in front of him. His forehead crinkled deeply as his eyes moved across the page, taking in the numbers and bending down to make an occasional note.

Harry swore he never knew someone studying could look so sexy.

He crouched down behind the Basque sitting on his desk chair and lightly ran his hands over Xabi’s bare forearms. He laughed lightly, “Xabi, you’re not studying too hard, are you?”

Xabi looked up, a small pout playing on his lips. (That tease.) “I always forget how to solve these!”

Harry pat his shoulder, “It does get confusing sometimes.” The Australian leaned forward even more to point at the textbook laid out in front of them, hand never leaving Xabi’s shoulder, “But you just have to remember the sequence of the numbers.” He bent closer to Xabi again, cheek intentionally brushing against his, “Right there,” he said softly, and Xabi didn’t know whether to follow the instructions Harry was pointing out on the textbook or to push closer to that touch.

“Sorry,” Xabi laughed nervously to himself. “I just get so stressed about it sometimes, I forget.”

“Hey,” Harry now placed both his hands on Xabi’s shoulders as he started kneading the taut muscle underneath it. “Relax. You’re too tense.”

Xabi smiled. “You’re right. You wanna take a break?”

Harry straightened up, “Good idea.”

Xabi stood up sluggishly. Then flopped down on Harry’s bed and stretched out. His voice of reason (which sounded a lot like Scouse) screamed at him to get up, run out and go home, but he was too tired to pay attention to it. Plus, maybe he was feeling just that bit careless tonight.

Harry stood at the foot of the bed, hands crossed over his chest, silly smile playing on his face. Well, well, well. Wasn’t this a very compromising position.

Xabi looked up at him—and Harry saw that glint. It flickered to the surface for a split-second, but Harry caught it. A challenging smirk. A come-hither look. Then, it was gone in the depths of Xabi’s hazel eyes. (Come to think of it, Harry didn’t know the exact shade of Harry’s eyes. Maybe he should check.)

Harry knelt on the edge of the bed, each leg on either side of Xabi’s. The Basque didn’t flinch nor move away. In fact, he just stared at Harry, half-glazed, half-anticipating.

Xabi tried his best to keep still, not arch against the soft mattress and moan in eagerness. A delicious tingle nonetheless ran up his spine. Maybe making mistakes wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

Harry carefully crawled over Xabi, and on his hands and knees, he lowered himself over him. Inches apart and breaths mingling, Harry studied every inch of Xabi’s face—the strong jaw, those high cheekbones, the tiny semi-arrogant smirk (and his eyes were just a shade darker than chocolate, Harry thought). It’s been too long.

And just when Harry was still sort of just hovering, Xabi grinned to himself, pushed up and placed his kiss on his friend’s lips. When he pulled back, Harry looked shocked.

“What?” Xabi asked innocently.

“You kissed me first,” Harry pointed out, smiling too, a pink blush creeping over his cheeks.

“Yeah, I did,” Xabi shrugged nonchalantly. “But if I know you well,” Xabi let his fingers play with the curve of Harry’s neck, “You’re not one to let others take the lead for too long.”

“You know me well,” Harry agreed, before letting his lips wander, nuzzling on Xabi’s neck.

Xabi struggled to keep his voice steady as he felt Harry’s expertly licking at his jawbone, “No,” he gently pushed Harry away. The Australian stopped in confusion.

Xabi rolled them both over on their side and he scooted closer again—close that their legs were entwined tightly and their chests were flat against each other. “I want to kiss you,” Xabi said simply and as if to demonstrate, he leaned forward to capture Harry’s lips deeply. “I’ve missed this,” he added when he broke away.

Harry laughed breathlessly. “No problem,” he said, pulling Xabi to him and crashing their mouths together. He pressed against him, sucking languidly on Xabi’s bottom lip, making the Basque moan softly. Xabi opened his mouth and it was almost familiar. Harry deepened their kiss, letting his tongue probe slowly into Xabi’s mouth. Xabi followed suit, sucking on Harry’s tongue before he moved in to taste the Australian’s kiss too.

_Rule #2: It doesn’t matter what base you reach (if you don’t get the home run)._

“Fuck,” Harry muttered, briefly pulling away, but Xabi wouldn’t let him. A firm tug on Harry’s hair and they were kissing again, as they have been kissing for a good part of the last hour, writhing against Harry’s sheets as hands wandered under shirts and crotches moved hotly against each other.

Harry pulled away again, more resolutely this time, and craned his neck to check on his bedside clock. “Fuck,” he said again, struggling to untangle himself from Xabi.

“What is it?” Xabi asked impatiently, legs clenching around Harry’s unsubtly.

“It’s almost 11,” Harry said, sitting up very reluctantly. “The dorm monitor’s bound to do rounds any minute now and if he still catches you here, we’re both dead. Visitors aren’t allowed here past curfew.”

Xabi threw his head back and sighed in annoyance, but he sat up too anyway. “You’re right, maybe I should go.”

Harry gritted his teeth and wanted to claw his eyes out. What the hell was wrong with him? Curfew’s never stopped him before. In fact, trying to beat the clock was his well-worn excuse for a perfectly good quickie. But he still let Xabi stand up wobbly and gather his things.

In a way, he felt like he was an inexperienced freshman again, clumsy and awkward, hesitating to make the move—a far cry from the popular senior who wooed everyone with his confidence, basically able to fuck just about anyone is because he acted like he could.

_Rule #3: There are no second dates. (Only wimps who couldn’t get laid on the first.)  
(...Okay, so maybe all his rules were about sex.)_

“Shit, we didn’t even get to finish the problem exercises,” Xabi grinned sheepishly, gathering his things. “We really can’t extend beyond curfew?”

Harry sat on the bed, running his hands through his dishevelled hair. “You want to break the rules... so we can study more?” He asked Xabi, laughing.

Xabi laughed too, “Yeah. You know me. Always the rebel.”

Harry shook his head and stood up to get Xabi’s jacket from the hallway closet.

“But that doesn’t mean studying’s all I want to do,” Xabi clarified, raising an eyebrow at the Australian.

“Uh-huh,” Harry nodded slowly, not giving out just yet. He opened the door and nodded to the corridor outside, “Now get a move on. I don’t want your ass expelled.”

Xabi rolled his eyes good-naturedly, but walked out anyway, snatching his jacket from Harry’s grasp, “Good night.”

“Call me when you can think of something more reckless, Alonso.”

He stopped halfway out the door, grinning—and Harry swore danger looked good on Xabi Alonso. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll think of something.”

*

Fernando tiredly entered their room, but the moment he closed the door and saw what he saw, he gasped.

“You didn’t!” Fernando exclaimed, and Harry looked up at him guiltily. “Would you believe me if I said, ‘I swear, we only studied matrices?’”

“Yeah, which is why you look dazed and your bed’s a mess,” Fernando snapped sarcastically, shrugging off his jacket. “Fucking matrix my ass.”

“That actually sounds kind of sexy,” Harry pointed out.

Fernando scowled, kicking off his shoes under his bed, “First, you’re a retard. Second, I can’t believe you fooled around with Xabi!”

Harry’s jaw dropped as he struggled to protest. “He started it!”

Fernando scoffed. “Yeah. Right.”

Harry scoffed back, “Why am I always the horny one?”

“...Is that a real question?”

“What’s up your ass?”

Fernando sighed and stripped to his boxers. “Nothing. The movie was just three hours long and deathly boring.”

“Yeah, the point was _not to watch it_. Or have I not taught you well?”

“It’s not like I had a choice!” Fernando pulled his pillow over his face and wailed.

“I take it you didn’t spend those three hours making out with Daniel Agger?” Harry asked.

“No,” Fernando mumbled lengthily, but it was muffled by the pillow. Harry rolled his eyes. Spanish fucking drama queen. He stalked over to his roommate’s bed and snatched the pillow away from Fernando’s face.

“Hey!”

“I couldn’t understand a bloody word.”

“I said,” Fernando repeated testily, “No, Stevie and Finns were there and they gouged us with Milk Duds. Happy?”

“Wow, Finns and Stevie were there?”

“Of course. Where else would Stevie be? His boyfriend was out slutting it up with you.”

“Oh, shut it, Torres. I meant, why the hell would Finns be there? He doesn’t even need extra credit.”

Fernando scowled, “What’s your point?”

“What’s wrong with you?” Harry shot back. “Be alarmed that Dan’s ex is moving in on your territory!”

Fernando’s face contorted from annoyance to genuine confusion. “...Dan’s ex?”

Harry slapped his forehead and cried out, “Oh my fucking god, Nando. Where have you been??”

“Oh, I dunno. Spain?” He retorted. Fernando was getting riled up too.

“Dan and Finns were together! And for the longest time. Since they met on the team.”

Fernando was sceptical. “But, Dan never said anything. I just know they’re best friends.”

“Nando, I was once on the team too, you know. I still remember all the dirt.”

Fernando laid back on his bed, stunned and staring at the ceiling. “No way.”

“Yeah,” Harry said, his tone more gentle now. “But, you know, maybe I could be wrong. They did always say they were just fooling around together and it wasn’t anything committed.”

Fernando shook his head to get himself out of his daze. “Oh well. Whatever. It’s not like I really care.”

“Yeah, keep telling yourself that, Nando.”

“Fuck off, Harry,” the Spaniard snapped back. “Stevie was also there tonight, mind you.”

“And I should be bothered?”

“You’re only trying to steal his husband,” Fernando rolled his eyes.

Harry sat up and challenged, “And what would you have me do? Ask permission from him? Or tell him, ‘By the way, captain, your boyfriend wants me’?” The Australian shook his head defensively. “It’s not my responsibility. If Stevie can’t keep Xabi honest, that’s his problem, not mine.”

“You’re a very twisted man,” Fernando sighed, climbing under his sheets, suddenly feeling a hundred times more tired than when he first arrived.

“I gave you crucial inside knowledge about Danny and Finns,” Harry pointed out, hurt. “But you still keep judging me based on my indiscretions.”

Fernando snickered. “Big word. Impressive, Harry. Maybe I should suck face with the nearest nerd too.”

“If you weren’t hot, Torres, I would have—”

Fernando slapped the light switch, throwing the entire room in darkness. Harry yelped, “Hey! I still have to study!”

“I want to go to sleep,” Fernando cut off. “You already had a study date earlier and if you chose not to study there, that’s not my problem.”

“You fucking brat.” Harry grudgingly climbed onto bed too. “I hope Finns and Danny get back together.”

“Oh, shut up, Kewell.”

*

“I give up!” Dan collapsed on the grass next to Finns.

“Yeah, Rafa gives insane training hours before matches,” Finns said in between large gulps of Lucozade.

Dan stared at the Irishman strangely. “I’m not talking about football.”

Finns rolled his eyes, “Fine, Daniel, what do you want to talk about?”

“I meant, I’m giving up on _that_ ,” Dan made a subtle nod to where the Spaniards were either practicing spot kicks or just simply trying to hit Pepe on different parts of the body.

“Ten points!” Fernando pumped his fist in the air as the ball rebounded loudly off Pepe’s shoulder.

“You bastards—” Pepe panted as he made a running leap to stop another ball whizzing past him. Alvaro took that as an opportunity to launch another shot, and before the goalkeeper could look, it hit him dangerously close to his groin.

“Hundred points for the freaking win!” Alvaro screamed, running around like a madman, whipping off his shirt and waving to the imaginary crowd.

“Er, I don’t get it,” Finns spoke up, tearing Dan’s attention away from the game. “You’re giving up on penalty kicks or insane Spaniards? Because there’s a good case for each.”

Dan picked at the grass and threw it at Finns, “Well, you’re almost close.”

“Crazy Spaniards, huh?” Finns suggested with a wry, knowing smile.

“Yeah,” Dan grinned back, almost embarrassed. He threw a clump of grass at the Irishman, “And it’s all your fault! You and Stevie and your motherfucking movie food.”

“Wha—What did we do? We were just—”

Dan stared at Finns darkly.

“Oh,” Finns said loudly as it dawned on him. He slapped his forehead, “Oh, riiiight.”

“You salted my game,” Dan elbowed Finns who by now had collapsed into a fit of giggles. “It’s getting so embarrassing, I really just want to stop humiliating myself with these half-assed attempts and ridiculous interruptions.”

Finns pat the Dane’s shoulder consolingly, “Oh, Danny. You know what they say: If at first you don’t succeed...?” 

He looked at the younger man expectantly.

“Destroy all evidence you tried?” Dan guessed.

Finns sighed. “You’re hopeless.”

*

“How many times are you going to come home late this week?”

Tiptoeing in the dark, Xabi yelped at the sudden noise and turned around, banging against some unseen item of furniture, “Ow!”

Groggy and dressed just in his boxers, Mikel flipped on the lights.

“Jesus Christ, Mikel, don’t scare me like that!” Xabi rubbed the sore spot on his shin.

“Well, maybe if you weren’t trying to sneak in unnoticed, you wouldn’t have rammed straight against the dining table.”

Xabi sighed and turned around, walking to the kitchen to get himself a glass of water. Mikel stubbornly followed his little brother. “You know, Xabs, I try to be very lenient. But you can’t keep coming home at midnight on school nights. And this is, what, the third time this week?”

Xabi briefly paused, his glass raised halfway to his lips, looking slightly horrified at Mikel’s painful attempt at being a responsible sibling.

Mikel padded closer, patting Xabi’s knees supportively, “I’m very supportive of you and Stevie. You can do whatever you want, but my point is, you have to know your limits.”

“Mikel!” Xabi cried out, cringing. “Stop it!”

Mikel’s jaw dropped. “What? This is a serious issue, Xabi.”

“No, it’s a pointless issue.”

Mikel shook his head sternly. “No, I have a right to be slightly worried about you and your studies. You and Stevie have been out too many times this week—“

Xabi’s cheeks burned and he mumbled something incoherent. Mikel stopped. Then his eyes widened.

“Unless,” Mikel’s voice boomed loudly in the empty kitchen, “You weren’t out with Stevie!”

“Uh,” Xabi stammered. If he said he was with Stevie, he was dead. If he said he wasn’t, well... it could be messy. “Mikel, I—”

“AHA!”

Xabi stood up, “I’m getting another glass of water.”

“Xabier Alonso Olano!” Mikel shouted half-amused, half-scolding. “What have you been up to?”

“Nothing!” Xabi protested a little too quickly.

Mikel eyed him suspiciously. “Are you doing drugs?”

It was Xabi’s turn to look shocked. “No!”

Mikel gasped. “Have you gotten someone pregnant?!”

Xabi shook his head in disbelief. “I’m failing Advanced Algebra.”

Mikel clapped a hand over his mouth, “You’re failing maths because you impregnated some girl?? Why you—You just wait until Papa hears about this, Xabier—”

Xabi threw his hands up in the air, “Mikel, no one’s pregnant!”

“...Oh.” Mikel frowned, looking slightly disappointed. “So you’re just staying out late to... _study_?”

Xabi rolled his eyes. “Yes.”

“Well, why didn’t you say so in the first place? Jesus, Xabi, you almost gave me a heart attack—” Mikel continued his sermon, but Xabi was already striding to his room. Before Mikel could catch up, Xabi closed the door and locked it.

Xabi undressed, threw himself on the bed and pulled the cover above his head. Silence, finally.

Until, of course, Mikel came walking in and Xabi cursed that their bedrooms were linked by an adjoining bathroom and he forgot to lock that door. Again. (Mikel had the unfortunate luck of walking in Xabi’s room at the most inopportune moments. How do you think he discovered that Xabi was gay and dating this boy Steven Gerrard?)

“Tell me,” Mikel nagged in that annoying singsong tone.

“Go away, I’m off to sleep,” Xabi mumbled under the covers.

“I’m not leaving until you spill,” Mikel said persistently, poking Xabi’s butt through the duvet.

“It’s nothing, okay?” Xabi rolled over and sat up exasperatedly. “I’m just taking some tutorials with my friend.”

“Yeah, and if there wasn’t a juicy secret behind that, you would’ve told me that so much more easily,” Mikel raised an eyebrow knowingly. “Who’s this _friend_?”

“Just... someone.”

Mikel smiled wryly, “Stalling isn’t going to help you, Xabier.”

Xabi let himself fall back down on the mattress, “Fine. It was Harry Kewell, okay?”

Xabi shut his eyes as he heard Mikel gasp then whoop out loud. “No frickin’ way. Harry Kewell? The Australian? Is he still on the team? The last you told me of him was when he got injured.” Mikel rattled off.

“Mikel, stop gushing over Harry.”

“Well, I did like him, you know,” Mikel said. Most of other Xabi’s friends and teammates were too wild and rambunctious. “Didn’t you two use to hang out a lot? He was always over here after school and training. What happened?”

“Er,” Xabi played with a stray thread on his pillow case. “Stevie happened.”

Mikel laughed sardonically and clapped. “I love it. It’s like a telenovela.”

“Good night, Mikel.”

“Good night.” Mikel thankfully stood up this time and bounded out the bedroom. “And keep me updated, Xabs!”

*

“Hey,” a deep voice whispered in Xabi’s ear, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. Xabi whirled around, a little breathless.

“Missed me?” Stevie asked, grinning.

“Oh, Stevie,” Xabi’s smile faltered a little. “It’s you.”

“Who did you think it would be?” Stevie joked, but the comment sent a guilty pang to Xabi’s heart.

“Sorry, I’m just a little out of it today. I didn’t get much sleep,” Xabi hurriedly changed the topic.

“Where were you?” Stevie asked, and they began walking to the cafeteria for lunch. “I tried calling your house last night but Mikel said you still weren’t home.”

Xabi snapped. “I had tutorials, okay?”

Stevie looked taken aback. “Wow, you really did wake up on the wrong side of the bed.”

Xabi sighed as he apologized again, “Sorry, it’s Mikel. He’s been giving me a hard time about being out all the time.”

“Do you really need that many extra lessons?” Stevie asked, looking a little concerned. “You can’t be doing worse than me in maths. I swear, Mr Moyes hates me.”

“I barely got a passing grade in the midterms, so I’m trying to compensate as much as possible before this marking period ends,” Xabi explained, pushing open the lunchroom door for both of them.

“I guess so,” Stevie shrugged, letting go of the issue. If there was anything Xabi was touchy about, it was his grades. “But you will still be there for training later, right?”

“Yeah, of course,” Xabi smiled sincerely for the first time in the conversation. “First game of the season and it’s at home to Chelsea. I can’t wait!”

Stevie smiled back at him, and they made their way to the snaking line. A group of freshmen were huddled over and chatting by the end of the line. One of them looked up, caught sight of the two midfielders and sort of yelped. He nudged his friends and nodded toward the older jocks, and they all moved away obediently, making way for them.

Stevie grinned haughtily and moved up the line. Xabi glanced at them apologetically, before hurrying after the captain.

“Stevie! They were in line first.”

“They gave way,” Stevie said, unaffected. Xabi sighed. Since when did everything suddenly seem so grating?

“Beef steak and orange soda, right?” Stevie asked him, plucking a food tray and a beverage for the Basque even before he agreed. Xabi heaved a sigh again. And since when did everything seem so routine?

“No, I want apple juice today,” Xabi blurted out.

Stevie looked at him strangely before shrugging and replacing the drink. They paid for their lunches before carefully making their way through the crowded cafeteria to the table where their teammates were. It was difficult to miss: the best table smack right in the centre of the room, loud and teeming.

“Anyway, maybe we could hang out today,” Stevie was saying and it was only partially making sense to Xabi who was out of it. “We haven’t gone out in a while.”

Xabi nodded noncommittally, “Sure.”

“We could chill at my house later after training,” Stevie said, not even asking for Xabi’s agreement.

“Yeah, whatever you say,” Xabi replied dully, stifling a yawn.

They settled down in the middle seats of the large table, their friends already up to their usual banter.

“I flunked my exam!” Carra bellowed.

“Which one?” Dirk asked cheekily.

“French! It was so dreadful. It was like, death by conjugation,” Carra moaned.

“You should have seen Carra this morning,” Stevie joined in. “Mr Wenger had to stop him halfway through the oral exam to ask him if he knew the slightest thing about French.”

“Yeah, I don’t think he was very happy when I said I wanted France to win the World Cup in 06.”

Penns added, “If you haven’t heard Scouse-French, you haven’t heard anything at all.”

“Oy, it’s not just us Scousers! You just wait until those Spanish lads have to take Wenger.”

“Xabi nailed the finals,” Stevie pointed out.

Carra rolled his eyes, “That’s Xabi. He could be the human Babelfish if he wanted to.”

Xabi grinned, but continued to poke half-heartedly at his food.

“Ah, wait until Fernando takes that class. Then we can all give him stick for his Spanish-French.”

Fernando looked up, with that perfected wide-eyed and innocent expression. “I’m good in French kissing, does that count?”

“Well, you’ll pass your orals with flying colours then,” Dan replied with a lopsided grin, and the two kids stared at each other shamelessly.

Xabi sighed to himself. He could just be at the library now, catching some much-deserved shut-eye. Until he felt a heavy clap on his back.

“Look alive, Alonso!”

“Hey!” Finns was the first to speak up. “If it isn’t Harry Kewell!”

The table erupted into cheers, hellos and questions of whether the Australian had plans of rejoining the team. Xabi, however, sat there looking a bit dazed. The cheek of that boy to walk up to their table—Xabi had to bite back a smile.

“I just dropped by to say a quick hi to everyone,” Harry was saying, waving to the older boys, nodding to the new signings and briefly resting his gaze on an amused Xabi. They shared a quick smile, before Harry turned back to the team, “Anyway, I’m off. My friend’s waiting for me.”

“See you, Kewell,” Carra chorused with the others, and Harry strode off to a table not very far away. He sat down next to this girl, Sheree.

“If I know, Harry’s putting the moves on her,” Riise said in a hushed tone. “I keep seeing them together.”

“Yeah, I heard that rumour too,” Finns confirmed and they all chuckled to themselves, betting how long it would take Harry to nail her.

“My friend said they caught them making out in the janitor’s closet down the Houllier wing,” Lucas said, wide-eyed.

Xabi gritted his teeth, sneaking a glance at Harry and Sheree, heads close and talking softly to each other. Before he could control himself, he blurted out, “I don’t believe it. I bet there’s nothing’s between them.”

The team stopped chattering. “How would you know?” Stevie asked, forehead furrowing.

 

“Fernando told me they were just seatmates in English,” the lie effortlessly slipped out of Xabi’s mouth, and the Spaniard had to wonder when he became so good at lying.

Stevie switched his scrutinizing glance over to Fernando, and the kid stammered, “Uh, yeah. Harry told me they were seatmates and Sheree even lets him copy her assignments and all.”

Stevie didn’t look convinced, but he just nodded slowly. Xabi glared at Fernando, who retaliated by giving him a quick kick to the shins.

“Anyway,” Crouch broke the uncharacteristic silence, “First game of the season next week, yeah? We should thrash those London rent boys.”

The team started again instantly, talking animatedly about their upcoming clash with Chelsea. Everyone in school was already talking about it. Carra and Stevie busied themselves with briefing the team about Terry and Lampard, who they played with in the under-18s national team.

Xabi heaved a sigh of relief as he went back to moping. He casually craned his neck, pretending to look for someone in the cafeteria and ‘unintentionally’ letting his gaze drift over Harry and Sheree’s table. A spark of irritation flashed in his gut as he watched Sheree throw her head back and laugh completely unrealistically at whatever Harry had just said.

Xabi fumed and dug his mobile out of his messenger bag. His fingers flew over the keypad as he quickly typed out a message.

_‘So, you and Sheree, huh?’_

A quick beep, and Xabi discreetly read the message, cautiously tilting his phone so Stevie wouldn’t be able to peek if he tried to.

_‘So, you and Stevie, huh?’_

Oh. Right.

Xabi frowned and tossed his phone on the table in resignation, the mobile clattering against the plastic table top.

“You okay, babe?” Stevie wrapped an arm around his waist and leaned in close, looking a bit concerned.

Xabi smiled warmly, “Oh no, it’s nothing. My phone’s just fucking up again.”

Lie #2. Too easy.

Stevie nodded and went back to his ongoing conversation with Carra and Sami.

Half a scoop of mashed potatoes later, Xabi’s phone buzzed again. The Spaniard had to smile as he saw Harry’s name in his inbox again.

_‘Are we still meeting up for tonight? I’ve missed you.’_

Xabi felt a sickening flutter in his stomach. He looked up and caught Harry’s gaze. The Australian winked at him cheekily, before returning to his conversation with Sheree.

Xabi grinned to himself and quickly typed in his reply.

 _‘We should.’_ Xabi paused, unsure, but threw caution to the wind anyway. _‘But I’m bored now.’_

Xabi tapped his feet nervously, not knowing how Harry would reply to his obviously open-ended message.

Harry opened the message underneath the table and when he read the message, he felt a hot blush creeping up his neck.

_‘What are you thinking of, Alonso?’_

A few agonizing minutes and a million glances at his mobile, Xabi finally replied.

_‘I hear the janitor’s closet is private enough.’_

Harry cursed underneath his breath as he felt a tingling in his gut. Fucking Spaniards. Do they culturally just breed that kind of unabashed sex appeal? He texted under the table so Sheree wouldn’t see.

_‘Give me two minutes.’_

Xabi deleted the message and slid the phone in his pocket, struggling to keep a poker face despite the buzzing anticipation inside him.

“Stevie?” Xabi coughed lightly. The captain immediately cut off his sentence and looked at his boyfriend, “Yeah?”

“I just forgot my Physics book in the locker. I’ll just run off and get it, alright?”

Third lie in a row. He was getting the hang of this.

Stevie nodded and smiled, “No problem.”

Xabi smiled back, hands meticulously straightening out his blazer and tie, “Save my seat. This won’t be long.”

*

“Remind me again why Mr Ferguson had to assign us ten chapters of new readings a week before the exam?” Fernando ran his hands tiredly through his hair as Dan and him piled up their photocopied books in their arms.

“And why were the books we needed all the way in the Manchester freaking Library?” Fernando continued ranting, as the two struggled out of the library, holding the door open with a foot as they tried to barrel out without dropping any of their things.

“For the first question, well, because Fergie’s really just that evil,” Dan said, stuffing his stack of readings inside his backpack. “And for the second question, are you even surprised? It’s so bloody obvious Mr Ferguson’s a Manc.”

Fernando sighed as they walked down the streets to the train station in the corner. He checked his watch, “Damn, I didn’t realize it was so late. I hope I don’t get locked out of the dorm.”

“Nah, I think the tube will be empty now, so travel won’t be as tedious as this afternoon,” Dan tried to assure the striker.

They filed down the stairs and got themselves tickets. True enough, the station was almost deserted except for a few people milling around wearily.

“Ten stops away from Liverpool,” Fernando sighed, pouting at Dan.

Dan grinned, trying to tear his eyes away from those lips. He slung a casual arm around Fernando’s waist and ushered him to the trains, “Come on then, Torres, let’s get you home.”

*

The dull sound of wheels running on tracks slowly lulled Fernando to sleep, his body completely exhausted after this afternoon’s double training session and his mind totally drained because of their History cramming session.

Tiredly, he let his head fall against the cool metal of the pole, the gentle swaying of the train carriage slowly coaxing Fernando to close his eyes.

Dan leaned against the wall of the car, watching the Spaniard intently. Of course he wasn’t thinking of illicit thoughts as Fernando wrapped his arm around the pole. And of course it completely didn’t affect Daniel how Fernando’s eyes were closed and his forehead was lightly creased and his movement was languid.

Dan shifted, trying to concentrate elsewhere: the other passengers drifting to sleep or engrossed in their own matters, the posters on the train, the number of stops left. But all he could stare at was the striker, with his necktie loose around his neck, the top few buttons of his crisp white shirt undone and his hair unkempt.

“Fuck it,” Dan said to no one in particular. Taking long but careful strides to avoid losing his balance, he closed the distance between him and the Spaniard.

Fernando looked up, dazed, before smiling, “Hey.”

Dan’s brain was going on overdrive and his senses were attuned to every one of his movements: like how his hand casually held on to the pole just atop Fernando’s, fingers brushing lightly. Fernando looked at their touching hands and tried to look unaffected, but Dan saw his eyes widen slightly and his disposition become more attuned.

Dan lifted his other hand and tucked the Spaniard’s hair behind his ear, before leaning down to whisper, “Roughly fifteen people in this train, Niño,” Dan sensed Fernando shiver, “What do you think are the chances they’re watching what we’re doing?”

Fernando’s breath hitched, and he stared up at Daniel under thick lashes. All he could say was, “Fucking hell, Daniel.”

Dan manoeuvred so Fernando was trapped between his body and pushed against the metal pole. “Better?” He asked cheekily.

“Fucking. Hell. Daniel.” Fernando said again, his words crisp and low and up close, Dan observed a thin layer of sweat forming just above Fernando’s upper lip.

The train swayed and went over bumps, the movement causing Dan to stumble forward, pressing their bodies together accidentally. Fernando let out a small moan at the slightest friction, and he wondered why he was this easy tonight.

Dan didn’t move away after falling closer to Fernando. Instead, he let his lips brush lightly over the Spaniard’s jawline.

“You tease,” Fernando breathed, and Dan smirked against his freckled skin.

“Fine,” Dan said, pulling away and facing Fernando straight. The Spaniard didn’t flinch this time. He just stared at Daniel, then raised one cocky eyebrow.

“Well?”

Well, bloody hell, Dan wasn’t going to back down from that kind of challenge.

Burying a hand through Fernando’s hair and tugging him close, Dan crashed their lips together and it was like this overwhelming wave of _thankyougodfinally_ before it gave way to the tangy taste of _fuckthisboycankiss_.

Fernando was the first to pull away—but only inches away, if not centimetres—and he ran his fingers over Dan’s lips, as if entranced. Then, he smirked and looked up at the defender. “On the train? You kissed me on the train?”

Dan broke into a genuine laugh. “This is the only place where our teammates can’t sabotage us.”

Fernando craned his neck backward, surveying the rest of the car. Most of the passengers were either asleep or gazing out the window. There was a girl in the far side of the train looking highly amused and an old couple sitting just a few metres away from them, jaws dropped, completely aghast.

The couple saw Fernando looking at them and they shook their heads, tutting and whispering between themselves. Fernando rolled his eyes and looked back at Dan, “I think this may count as a public display of indecency, Agger.”

Dan followed Fernando’s gaze and laughed too. “No, for it to be indecent, I’d have to do this—” Fernando gasped in shock as Dan pressed against him completely now, every turn of the train, every slight movement brought their heated bodies grinding.

Fernando buried his face into the nook of Dan’s neck and breathed out a moan. The hot breath sent tingles down Dan’s spine. The Dane bit back a groan and instead pushed his leg in between Fernando’s so he could feel his excitement against his thigh. Fernando whimpered and let his head fall back against the pole in pleasure, and Dan swore he hardened even more at the sight.

“You had to kiss me in a public place?” Fernando muttered testily, trying to control himself, fingers digging in deliciously on Dan’s hip.

“I just wanted to test your restraint,” Dan teased, letting a hand roam inside Fernando’s blazer, tracing his abs through the thin, white button-down.

Fernando smiled mischievously, bringing his arms around Dan’s neck and pulling him down to meet his lips again. “Well, test my restraint now. You have only three more stops to go.”


	6. You say love is a temple, love the higher law

“Fancy lunch?”

Xabi’s face broke into a grin. Just what he needed after a dreary series of morning lectures: a certain Harry Kewell waiting for him just outside his Biology class.

“Well, if it isn’t two of my best students,” said Mrs Eriksson, an old plump woman with a kindly face.

“It’s in the teacher, Ma’am,” Harry winked, opening the door for the Biology professor.

“Mr Kewell, always the charmer,” Mrs Eriksson pretended to roll her eyes as she walked away, but it was obvious she was biting back a chuckle.

Xabi playfully shoved the Australian, “You’re slimy, Harry.”

Harry smirked, “That’s not what you said last night.”

The Basque burned a bright red as he looked around, making sure no one could overhear them. But the hallway was bustling with students too busy heading to their lockers or heading to the canteen.

“So what do you say to lunch, Alonso?” Harry tugged Xabi’s tie to get his attention.

Xabi bit his lip as the two began walking side-by-side. “Hanging out together in the middle of the cafeteria isn’t exactly the most subtle thing to do.”

“Who said I was talking about the cafeteria?” Harry grinned as made a quick turn down the corridor leading to the school’s entrance.

“Wha—Harry!” Xabi stood rooted on the spot, staring at Harry, aghast. “That’s...” He dropped his voice to a whisper, “That’s _cutting class_.”

“Er, yeah.” Harry shrugged in confusion, “So?”

“Cutting is against the rules?” The Spaniard retorted adamantly.

“Not if they don’t find out,” Harry grinned cheekily, clasping his hand around Xabi’s wrist and dragged him along. “I’ve got study period after lunch anyway. They don’t check attendance there.”

“Yeah, and I have gym,” Xabi yanked his hand away.

“Xabs, you could cut every gym class and still get a A. You’re on the football team. It’s an unwritten rule.”

Xabi shook his head. Harry rolled his eyes and said rather bitterly, “How do you think Stevie and Carra get away with so much shit? Gym is their free cut.”

The Basque shifted from foot to foot, still reluctant.

Harry tried again, smiling sweetly, “Just this once?”

Xabi sighed. “Fine.” The word sounded ominous in its concession, but he threw all caution to the wind. He followed Harry as they quietly crept down the hallways.

“Don’t they lock the front doors during school hours?” Xabi hissed as they neared the entrance.

Harry didn’t even stop walking. He just brought out a silver key from his pocket, slipped it into the lock and the door effortlessly swung open with a simple push.

“You were saying?”

Xabi spluttered, “Wha—How did you—?”

“Connections.” Harry had the decency to smile sheepishly. “I dated the hall monitor once.”

Shaking his head, Xabi pushed the Australian outside and the two quickly ran across the lawn. They didn’t stop running until they got to the street corner and Xabi doubled over because he had started laughing so hard.

“Why are you laughing?” Harry demanded breathlessly.

Xabi regained his composure, “That was insane!” He exclaimed excitedly.

Harry took his hand as they crossed the street. He shot Xabi an amused grin, “Just stay with me, Alonso. I knew you had that bit of a devil in you.”

Xabi grinned back, “So, where are we going?” He asked brightly, before pointing to a far corner, “There’s a McDonald’s down the road.

Harry threw back his head and laughed, and for a split-second, Xabi was mesmerized with the way Harry’s eyes twinkled happily and how his skin glistened perfectly under the harsh noon sun. (And though he didn’t like comparing, he always thought Stevie’s eyes were just a little too squinty and he never really saw what they looked like when he laughed. And his skin was kind of just whitish and pale and never that shade of glowing.)

“We escape school for lunch and all you want is fast food?” Harry was saying.

“What’s wrong with that?” Xabi protested, “I like my chicken nuggets!”

Harry kissed Xabi’s cheek, “I’ll get you your chicken nuggets some other time, babe.” He looked up and down the road before nodding towards the new upscale city square. “Let’s find a decent restaurant over there.”

Xabi’s eyes widened, “Harry! It’s too expensive there.”

“My treat, come on!” Harry was already striding towards the gleaming row of establishments.

“But—” Xabi tried to argue.

“Table for two?” The mitre’d was already asking and Harry nodded. A waiter led them to a table by the window and opened the menu for both of them before bowing out.

“Isn’t this a bit too much?” Xabi asked, eyes running over the pricey items on the menu, then the plush decor of the restaurant.

“Come on, Xabi, this is the only time I get to take you out—the only time you’ll allow me to take you out,” Harry corrected, cheeks red in embarrassment as he mumbled behind his menu. “At least let me do something nice for you. I just thought you deserved something more than Advanced Algebra tutorials you don’t really need and rushed meetings inside the janitor’s closet.”

Xabi couldn’t stifle the giddy grin threatening to split his face wide open, so he hid his face behind the menu too, staring at the appetizer listing like it held the meaning to life. “Thanks,” he babbled incoherently and he was sure he was blushing like a schoolgirl on a first date.

Under the table, their legs pressed against each other accidentally as Harry shifted in his seat, but neither made an attempt to move away.

“But you know,” Harry broke the silence that had settled between them, mischievous eyes meeting Xabi’s eyes for the first time, “You can still make out with me in the janitor’s closet anytime. I’m not complaining.”

*

“Lunch is almost over,” Alvaro glanced at his watch and frowned, “Have you guys seen Xabi? I was going to copy his homework.”

The boys all looked at Stevie expectantly. He shrugged nonchalantly, “I don’t know.”

Riise snickered, “Well, that’s a first.”

Stevie smacked the back of his head playfully, “I haven’t seen him the entire day, to be frank.”

Riise gasped, “The world as we know it is coming to an end!”

“I saw him rushing out of Bio right before the break,” Lucas piped up. “He seemed really preoccupied with something.”

Stevie nodded, “Yeah, he’s been really busy lately, so give him a break.”

Fernando shifted queasily, sending a quick text message to Harry asking where he was and he had better hope he wasn’t with Xabi or else. When he looked up from his mobile, Dan was glancing at him with a questioning look. Fernando looked away immediately.

The lunch bell rang, cutting short their conversation. The group reluctantly started standing up.

“A few more hours until freedom,” Carra rubbed his hands together in anticipation. 

“Easy for you to say,” Finns scowled. “I have a double Physics period this afternoon.”

“Well, don’t wipe yourself out, la.” Carra clapped his back sternly. “Training later.”

“Oh, let him,” Arbeloa interrupted. “If he gets rotated out of the squad, I get to play.”

“Dream on, Arbeloa. I’m going to start for Chelsea,” The Irishman retorted.

“You know my idea,” Alvaro wagged his eyebrows like their coach, “I have enough kwaality, no?”

The group burst out laughing, but Stevie cut them all off. “Now come on, lads. If any of you get detention because you’re late and you miss training, I’m telling Rafa to drop you,” he instructed authoritatively, herding the grumbling squad inside.

Fernando followed the pack, but he felt a heavy grip on his arm. He didn’t have to look up to know who it was. Daniel had been pestering him all morning.

“Oy, you two!” Crouch hollered at the striker and defender, “Aren’t you both coming inside?”

“We’ll be there in a while,” Dan called out for the both of them, hand tightening around Fernando’s shoulder.

Crouch shook his head and nudged Kuyt. “I’ll bet you a tenner those two are macking each other.”

When the others were a good few metres ahead of them, Dan slung his arm around Fernando’s neck as they slowly walked down the lawn.

“I was wondering when you’d stop ignoring me,” Dan whispered to the Spaniard’s ear. Fernando tried to protest indignantly, but he flinched the moment Dan pressed a kiss to his neck.

“I haven’t been ignoring you,” Fernando said.

“Oh, please, you spent the entire break stubbornly squeezed between Pepe and Alvaro and I know you hate that because Alvaro’s bony and Pepe always filches off your food.”

Fernando’s jaw dropped, “I was just—”

“Ignoring me,” Dan completed smugly.

The Spaniard opened his mouth to hit back but Dan continued, “Was it because you thought things would be awkward after we kissed?” The defender smirked mockingly. “Or that it would be complicated?”

Fernando pursed his lips tightly and looked away.

“You’re such a woman, Torres,” Dan laughed triumphantly and grabbed Fernando to himself. The courtyard was empty now, all students having entered the main wing.

Fernando let himself fall against Dan’s strong chest, but he huffed at him, “I don’t know why I thought things would change. You’re obviously still an ass.”

“Yeah,” Dan tilted Fernando’s chin up, “And you like me for it.”

He dipped his head and captured Fernando’s lips into a deep kiss, eager to taste the Spaniard on his tongue again, as if last night’s encounter on the train had been too far off.

Fernando let his eyes drift open slowly as they broke apart to catch their breaths. He licked his lips, finding the taste of Dan still lingering on them. “Correction,” the striker smirked, “I don’t like you.” He extracted himself from Dan’s tight embrace, “I only like kissing you. There’s a difference.”

Dan’s eyebrows raised in surprise before he broke out into a cocksure chuckle, “Whatever you say, Torres.” He opened the door and ushered in Fernando by the waist. “Now come on, the bell rang ages ago.”

Fernando looked up at Dan in bemusement. “What are you doing?”

If Dan was embarrassed, he didn’t show it. He just played with his backpack’s straps, “What does it look like? I’m walking you to class.”

The striker put a hand on his waist and appraised Dan with a smug smile. “Daniel Agger, do you like me??”

Dan groaned and no composure could hide his blushes now. “Your class is on the way to mine, that’s all, okay? Stop acting like an idiot.”

“Really?” Fernando grinned evilly. He glanced up and down the now-deserted hallway before advancing on to Dan until he was cornered against the lockers. He kissed Dan lightly on the lips, then down to his Adam’s apple, then to the last stretch of skin on his neck before his collar and top button.

Dan laughed airily, “I don’t like you, Torres. That’s insane.” He struggled to keep his thoughts on track at the fluttering sensations of the Spaniard’s lips expertly breathing over his skin.

“Are you sure about that?” Fernando asked again, continuing a steady trail of light kisses over Dan’s shirted chest down to his stomach. Dan dared to look down and immediately regretted it. He swallowed a groan as Fernando quickly dropped to his knees to press a chaste kiss on his groin, through the cloth of his trousers. So what if Fernando’s lips were only really barely making contact with the fabric of Dan’s clothing? Dan had a wild imagination, thank you very much.

“Okay, so maybe you’re not all that bad.” Dan panted out, yanking Fernando to his feet before he lost all self-control.

“Nuh-uh,” Fernando entwined an arm around Dan’s neck and his fingers played with the thick brown hair. “I think you fancy me something terrible, Danny.”

He pressed their bodies together and with his other hand, he grabbed Dan’s wrist. Never breaking their locked, heavy gazes, Fernando guided Dan’s hand down his chest, fingers raking over the flat plane. Dan tore his eyes away from the Spaniard because he had to watch this happen: Fernando brought Dan’s hand down between their bodies and made him clutch the hardening erection between his legs. Fernando buried his face into the crook of Dan’s neck and moaned shamelessly. Dan followed suit a few seconds later as the striker slowly—very slowly—thrust up into Dan’s grip.

“You were saying?” Fernando pulled away with a smug grin on his lips.

“You make a good case, but I’ll have to think about it,” Dan could barely muster as his mouth was completely dry.

Fernando seemed contented with the answer because he grinned at Dan triumphantly. “I’ve been told I can be very... convincing,” he winked, patting Dan’s cheek. Then, turning on his heel, he entered his classroom, leaving Dan an incoherent mess outside.

*

“Mr Carragher,” Prof Robinson’s voice rang clearly through the classroom.

“Shit,” Carra whispered to Stevie who was slumped beside him. “Did you read the assigned chapter for today?”

The younger Scouser shook his head discreetly, “Good luck, mate.”

“Yes, sir?” Carra cleared his throat.

“What do you think Shakespeare meant when he said ‘Something’s rotten in the state of Denmark?’” Mr Robinson asked, leaning on the teacher’s table, a well-worn copy of Hamlet opened in his hands.

Carra was utterly dumbfounded as he stared back blankly at Mr Robinson.

“Mr Carragher?” The English professor prodded expectantly.

“Er,” Carra stammered, stomping harshly on a chuckling Stevie’s foot. “I’m still organising my thoughts, sir. May I answer later?”

Stevie was trying to stifle his laughter so badly, his shoulders were shaking. He hid behind his notebook as Mr Robinson blinked in surprise.

“Oh. Er. Well, yes, okay.” Mr Robinson blathered, “I guess we’ll get back to you then. In the meantime,” he surveyed the class, and the students immediately averted their gazes and pretended to be busy so they could avoid being called. “Ah, Mr Gerrard seems like he wants to say something.”

Stevie went from wiping away tears of laughter to gasping in surprise.

“Ha! Take that ye git!” Carra could be heard hissing loudly.

“Mr Carragher,” Mr Robinson called out warningly. Carra’s mouth snapped shut and he sank low on his seat. But a vindictive grin played on his lips as Stevie miserably shuffled to his feet.

“Sir, what was the question?” Stevie asked, trying to stall as much as possible as he frantically opened his novel and looked for the section Mr Robinson was discussing.

“Shakespeare said ‘Something’s rotten in the state of Denmark.’ How do you interpret this?” Mr Robinson asked, smiling encouragingly at the boy.

“Well,” Stevie coughed, “I think Shakespeare meant that...” He trailed off, letting his eyes wander around the class, hoping for a hint from his classmates. No such luck. “That something was... wrong? In the state of Denmark?” Stevie answered sheepishly.

Mr Robinson sighed. “Mr Gerrard, could you be more specific?”

Stevie cleared his throat and tried to sound confident, “Sir, I interpret it to meant that Shakespeare thought that something was wrong in the state of Denmark, er, _specifically_.”

The whole class snorted in unison.

“Mr Gerrard,” the professor rubbed his temples tiredly, “Have you even began reading Hamlet?”

Stevie hesitated. He’s read the blurb at the back. That counted, right?

Fortunately, a knock came at the door and the familiar bald head and bearded grin of Rafa poked in. The class tittered excitedly. Everyone knew the first game of the season was only a few more days away. In fact, tickets were already sold out.

“Mr Robinson, is it okay if I borrow your student for a while?” Rafa asked in his heavily-accented English. “I need to discuss something very important with Stevie.”

Stevie smiled proudly. Oh, how he loved being captain. He was on a first-name basis with Rafa, arguably the most popular member of Anfield High’s faculty. He grinned at all his classmates as they peered at him curiously and jealously.

Mr Robinson nodded and motioned for Stevie to come forward.

“Mr Gerrard, please get started on your work,” The professor said sternly. Stevie nodded. Mr Robinson pat his shoulder heartily, “And you win us that game on Saturday.”

The professor turned to the class and clapped loudly to get their attention back to the novel. “People, let’s have Mr Carragher again, please. I assume you’re done ‘organising your thoughts.’”

Carra yelped, “Unfair! Stevie got to leave!”

“He’s captain.”

“I’m vice-captain,” Carra tried his luck, but Mr Robinson shook his head and motioned for Carra to stand up. “Now, onto Shakespeare, Mr Carragher!

*

Stevie entered the manager’s office tentatively. Rafa seemed extremely preoccupied, head bent down over a stack of papers, computer whizzing as it recorded the squad’s health statistics.

The Scouser coughed quietly. Rafa looked up, “Ah, Stevie, you’re here. Sit down,” he motioned to the chair in front of his desk. Stevie nodded and took his seat in the old chair, sinking on the dilapidated cushion, rusty springs squeaking with every move.

“The Chelsea game is up,” Rafa capped his pen and folded his hands on the table, “And you know my idea: we have to win the midfield battle. They have Lampard and Ballack, maybe. And Makalele going defensive, and also Mikel could be used, no?”

Stevie nodded, ticking off the long list of available midfielders and wingers Chelsea could start with. The manager continued, “I promised you last year I wouldn’t make you play on the right anymore. And with the squad we have, I can see we need to be in a 4-4-2 formation for the weekend.”

The captain tried to peer at the varied sketches and graphs and team sheets scattered on Rafa’s desk, trying to figure out the diagrams from upside-down.

“Since you’re playing in the middle, I want to know who you want to work with. I asked you this in the beginning of the school year, but I want to know if you’ve changed your mind—”

“Rafa,” Stevie interrupted as politely as he could. “You know I still choose Xabi.”

Rafa nodded slowly. “I thought you’d say that. You do not think Javier can do it?”

Stevie gnawed on his bottom lip, “Masch has been massive, I’ve been a fan since day one.”

“Yes, and he’s improved a lot since,” Rafa pointed out.

“But Xabi—”

“—Has been suffering a bad patch of form,” Rafa filled in, no-nonsense.

“—Has been mu midfield partner for a long time and I still work better with him,” Stevie countered vehemently.

Rafa sighed. “Yes, I know, Stevie. But are you certain Xabi can give 10% to the game? He’s seemed a bit... unfocused lately.”

Stevie’s forehead furrowed. Sure, he knew Xabi had been acting strange as of late, but it was an entirely different matter if Rafa had started noticing it too.

“Unfocused?” Stevie asked, genuinely surprised.

“Poorer performances, slower times, fewer shots,” Rafa made one or two circles on a batch of statistics on his file.

The Scouser shrugged, “As we said, it may just be a bad patch of form.”

“And he’s been late to training frequently, always seeming rushed. Distracted.”

Stevie tried to laugh it off again, “Rafa, you know Xabi. He’s just been focusing much harder on his academics lately.”

Rafa raised an eyebrow. “Yes, well, I went to his gym class a couple of moments ago to talk to him about this issue, and he wasn’t there.”

Stevie blinked, still smiling as the news completely flew over his head. “I’m sorry?”

“Xabi wasn’t in class,” Rafa stated simply.

Stevie laughed, but it sounded hollow. “That’s impossible.”

Rafa rubbed his goatee, “It seems like you aren’t aware about the matter then. I was hoping you knew something about it so you could help me.”

“No, sir,” Stevie answered slowly, waiting for the words to sink in. “He hasn’t told me anything about it.”

Rafa leaned back on his chair, “You see, it might be acceptable for me to excuse Xabi’s form if it were because of his studies.” He raised a warning finger, “But if it’s because of other reasons and even his academics are suffering, I’ll have to find someone to take his place. It’s only fair since Javier is performing extremely well, and the only thing keeping him on the bench is your choice of a partner.”

Stevie gulped uneasily but nodded, “Yes, sir. I’ll tell him that.”

Rafa nodded, “Okay, thank you. You may go.”

Stevie shakily got to his feet. Halfway out the door, he turned and asked Rafa, “So, you’re dropping Xabi?”

Rafa’s fingers drummed the wood of his desk and the clacking sound was all that could be heard as the coach contemplated. “Are you sure you’d rather have Xabi over Javier?”

The captain answered without batting an eyelash. “I’m sure.”

*

Xabi pulled away from Harry and checked the dusty old clock hanging in the janitor’s crowded closet.

“You have to get to class,” he told Harry.

“Shoot,” Harry answered, prying himself reluctantly off the Basque. “I should go ahead if I want to slip in the classroom before the bell rings.”

Xabi nodded, fixing Harry’s dishevelled hair for him. “Thanks for lunch.”

“No problem,” Harry bit his lip unsurely. “We should do it again?” He trailed off so it was more a question than a suggestion.

Xabi smiled wryly. “Maybe. Now go,” he said, lightly pushing Harry out. The Australian grinned and with one last peck on Xabi’s cheek, he carefully pushed open the door. Surveying the hallway to ensure no one saw him, he slipped out and quietly ran off to his class.

Meanwhile, Xabi waited for the bell to ring a while later and when he was sure the corridors were at their busiest, he discreetly left the janitor’s closet and eased into the slipstream of students, smiling proudly at himself. But when he turned the corner and approached his locker, his stomach dropped.

Stevie was waiting for him, eyes cold and face steely.

“Hi, Stevie,” Xabi greeted as brightly as he could.

“Where have you been?” was the gruff reply.

The Spaniard’s eyes widened in surprise, but he tried to compose himself immediately. “Gym class,” he answered nonchalantly.

“Don’t lie to me, Xabi,” Stevie said, arms crossed over his chest, expression unchanging.

Xabi’s blood ran cold and he went on the defensive. “Look, I don’t need to tell you everything,” he hissed, trying to make his way to his locker.

“Since when?” Stevie snapped back, blocking Xabi’s path.

“Since always!” Xabi shouted, getting edgier by the second. A few passing students peered at the two jocks curiously. Xabi lowered his voice a notch but the venom in it was still strong, “You’re only my boyfriend, Stevie.”

Stevie looked as if he’d been slapped and his voice contorted into anger. He drew himself up to his full height, squaring his shoulders, “Yeah, and I’m also you’re captain, Alonso.”

Xabi raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “So? What has that got to do with anything?”

Stevie smiled sardonically. “Everything.”

The Spaniard stared at Stevie, allowing himself to feel a little doubt for a second. The Scouser never flaunted his captaincy to the team before, especially off-pitch. That was reserved for bitter enemies.

“Rafa went to your gym class and found you hadn’t bothered attending,” Stevie said coldly.

Xabi tried not to blush at being caught with a blatant lie and asked instead, “What did he say?”

“He’d rather give Masch a chance over you given your recent performances and now, this.” Stevie relayed the information, and this time, his tone was gentler.

Xabi gaped in horror. “He dropped me?!”

Stevie sighed and shook his head. “He thought about it.”

Xabi exhaled a gush of air he didn’t know he was holding in. “Thank fucking god!” Xabi laughed in pure relief, “What stopped him?”

“Me.” Stevie wasn’t even cracking a smile. “Who else?”

Xabi froze. “He asked you to choose your midfield partner, didn’t he?”

Stevie didn’t reply, just stood there with his arms crossed over his chest tightly.

“You know I’m not gonna fuck up on Saturday,” Xabi promised, looking straight into Stevie’s eyes. He wrapped his arms around the captain gratefully.

But Stevie wasn’t hugging back either. Xabi pulled away and glanced at the Scouser in confusion.

“Where were you?”

Xabi gaped silently. He hadn’t thought of what would happen if he got caught. “Stevie,” Xabi stammered, staring at Stevie helplessly.

“When did we start lying to each other?” Stevie asked, the pain starting to crack into his voice. It was evident now that this wasn’t just a minor issue of Xabi cutting class or slacking off in the squad.

“I—I was going to tell you, but—”

“You told your captain,” Stevie snickered more at himself, “But you weren’t willing to tell your boyfriend.”

“Stevie, that’s not true,” Xabi pleaded quietly, but Stevie shook his head. Pushing himself off the bank of lockers, he brushed Xabi away. “If you’re late to training again, you’re doing extra laps, Alonso.”

*

“Well, what’s up your ass?” Carra smacked Stevie on the back of the head. “You missed half your shots in training, la!”

Stevie didn’t even flinch. He just glared at his long-time friend, “Leave me alone, Carra.”

Carra sighed. Only one person could make Stevie such a basket-case. “I don’t know what’s happening, but I hope you two sort it out then.”

Stevie stopped unlacing his boots, and gave Carra a small smile. “Thanks.”

“Now, come on. This’ll cheer you up,” Carra said, yanking Stevie to his feet and dragging him to where Riise and Sami were snickering in a corner.

“What’s going on?” Stevie asked in bewilderment.

Riise motioned him to come closer and the four huddled together.

“We’re trying to figure out whether there’s something going on between those two kids,” Sami snickered, nodding discreetly to where Dan and Fernando were talking quietly to themselves on the far end of the bench.

“You’re all insane—” Stevie yelped, laughing for what seemed like the first time that afternoon.

“Shh, shut up, you idiot,” RIise said. Stevie glared at him. He was still captain of course. Riise grinned sheepishly and rephrased it, “I meant, we have to be stealth and ninja if we want to create a foolproof plan.”

“What’s the plan?”

“Nothing complicated,” Carra shrugged, “We all just know for a fact what a jealous, possessive bastard Agger is.”

Stevie’s eyes widened and he had to clap a hand over his mouth to keep from chuckling out loud. “No way.”

“Yeah, and since we all fancy not having our faces done in or our ankles broken in a ‘mistimed tackle,’ we thought we should look for an accomplice who Dan wouldn’t dare touch,” Sami explained. “And that’s where you come in, captain.”

“And because we were tired of you acting like a soppy git,” Carra added.

“That too,” RIise nodded. “See? It’s the perfect plan.”

“But it’s already so bleedin’ obvious they’re together.” Stevie pointed out sarcastically, “Even Yossi knows. Yossi thought Xabi and I were _best friends_.”

“Yeah, but their press release is that they’re ‘only History partners.’” Carra snickered, “That’s almost as bad the we’re-just-midfield-partners pack of lies you and Xabi kept dishing out years ago.”

Stevie frowned at the mention of Xabi’s name and the reminder of times that were infinitely rosier. So he just nodded and threw his hands up in the air, “Oh, what the heck? Fine.”

Riise, Sami and Carra broke the huddle, cheering among themselves. 

Stevie took a deep breath. He hadn’t flirted in a good two years, he may be rusty.

Dan and Fernando had now broken apart, Fernando was standing by his locker, and Dan—oh, shit—Dan was already padding to the shower. Carra motioned frantically for Stevie to hurry up before Dan missed the show and the whole plan fell to pieces.

Stevie panicked and did the only flirty thing he could think of that would catch both Fernando and Dan’s attention: He let out a loud wolf-whistle as Fernando was whipping off his muddy training kit.

Carra slapped his forehead so loudly, Stevie heard the smack of skin on skin. From the corner of his eye, he could just catch Sami hiding his head in his jersey and Riise mouthing the words ‘EPIC FAIL!’

But a certain Danish defender did stop his steps and did turn around to check what the fuss was all about. And Stevie had to grin at himself. In all fairness to his whistling abilities then.

At first Dan thought the guys were just mucking about, when he paused on the way to the shower to check who the hell still wolf-whistled in this decade—and in the squad’s changing room. What he saw, however, made his hands instinctively roll into fists. Stevie went to his locker, right next to Fernando’s and his eyes—it couldn’t be missed—swept thoroughly up and down Fernando’s sweaty, half-naked body.

(And of course Dan knew what Stevie was doing by the simple movement of his eyes because he’s done the same thing countless times too. He couldn’t be blamed. The fitness coach was strict with Fernando and it worked wonders.)

And the fucking Scouser didn’t even have the decency to stop there. He casually placed his hand on the Spaniard’s waist—too lightly that it seemed to caress and too low for Dan’s liking. Dan was balling his fists so hard, his fingernails dug into his palms.

“W-what are you doing?” Fernando asked nervously. Of course he’s heard of that lecherous, tricky thing called ‘captain’s favours,’ but he’s never worried about that since Stevie and Xabi practically had the keys to each other’s chastity belts.

“Shh,” Stevie said with a secretive grin, and then he leaned forward. Fernando’s breath hitched as he felt Stevie’s lips roam near his ear.

“Do you want to know how far Dan will go for you?” Stevie teasingly whispered.

Fernando burned a bright red. “I don’t know what you’re talking about—” he mumbled and began to move away, but Stevie’s hand clenched tightly around his waist to keep him in place.

“Because right now, he’s frozen on the spot in the middle of the changing room looking like an idiot. All thoughts of his shower seem to be the last thing on his mind right now,” Stevie continued whispering, and he angled his head closer, lower so it seemed more intimate.

And what Fernando did, said, betrayed him. “He is?” The boy asked breathlessly.

Stevie grinned, “Of course he is.” He tightened his hand around Fernando’s waist to pull him closer, and with the other, he mischievously ran a finger down Fernando’s slick back, tracing the spine, directly in front of Dan.

“Fucking hell, Stevie,” Fernando tried not to squirm under Stevie’s touch. Of course, it was just play-acting. But, you try remaining stoic with those ministrations.

Stevie grinned as he tentatively took a step forward, effectively closing the distance between them, “Sorry, Nando, my game’s off. I haven’t done this in years.”

“Don’t worry,” Fernando said, looking at a spot just above Stevie’s shoulder, feeling uncomfortable at being that close to his captain and his friend’s almost husband. He tried to steady his breathing, “You’re doing fine.”

“Now come on,” Stevie took Fernando’s hand, “Let’s pretend we’re going to the showers together. It’d be a crime to leave Dan just standing there.”

Fernando ducked his head so Dan wouldn’t see him biting back a huge bellow of laughter as they made their way to the door leading to the shower room. At first, it seemed like the plan had backfired, but a few steps into the showers, they heard a loud voice calling them angrily.

“Hey,” Dan boomed, striding up to the two and clamping a hand over Stevie’s shoulder, harshly pulling him away from Fernando, “What’s going on here?”

Stevie met Dan’s glare with a nonchalant smile. “We’re off to take a shower.”

“The two of you?” Dan demanded, throwing a possessive arm around Fernando’s shoulders.

Stevie glanced at the gesture briefly and raised an eyebrow at the blushing Spaniard. Trying to keep a straight face, Stevie retorted at Dan, “Yeah. You have a problem with that?”

There. Direct confrontation.

Dan burned a bright red, his lips pursed together, as he looked torn about how to respond. He stepped away from Fernando and went up to Stevie—so close their noses bumped—“Outside, Gerrard.”

Fernando’s jaw dropped as he watched Dan stalk outside and as Stevie proceeded to follow him. “Stevie, you better end this right now or he’s really going to beat you up for sure.”

Stevie grinned and waved away Fernando’s anxious warnings. “Hey, I can handle Agger. I’m big and fucking ‘ard, remember?”

*

Stevie had barely closed the locker room door when Dan yanked him by the collar into the corridor and shoved him against the wall. Grunting at the dull pain that spread through his back, Stevie gritted his teeth and immediately advanced on Daniel and grabbing the front of his jersey, viciously tugged him forward.

“You touch me like that again, Agger, and you’ll wish you hadn’t.” Stevie warned furiously. Although Dan was inches taller, the Scouser’s body was a tank.

Agger seethed, “I can fucking do your head in, Gerrard.”

“Oh, you’re squaring up to your captain?” Stevie taunted, but before Dan could answer, he continued, “Because when we got Harry to flirt with Finns before to see how you would react, you just walked away. Remember that?” Stevie allowed himself a light chuckle, “And that was Kewell. Doesn’t take much to get him injured. Yossi could take Kewell.”

Then it all crashed down on Daniel. His cheeks were a brighter shade of red than his kit.

“Fuck you, Stevie. Fuck you. And Carra and Sami and Ginger, because I’m sure they put you up to this.”

Stevie couldn’t keep it reined in anymore as he doubled over laughing. “You should have bloody seen your face, Agger!” Stevie taunted in between fits of laughter.

Dan growled and he swore he wanted to do Stevie’s head in now more than before. “You’re a bastard!”

Stevie shook his head and dried his tears. He clapped Dan’s back good-naturedly, “I think you really like him, ‘fess up,” he teased in a singsong tone. He slung an arm around Dan’s shoulder and winked cheekily, “But seeing Fernando up close, it’s not hard to see why.”

Dan pushed him away, “You shut your mouth.”

Stevie continued devilishly (and strategically, because he knew Dan would never respond to the direct questioning), “You know, I would tap that ass.”

Dan turned livid. “If you in so much as try, captain or no captain, I’m gonna fucking break your right foot.” He reached out to grab the Scouser, but Stevie was too quick and he scampered down the corridor with Dan hightailing after him, yelling, “You’re not tapping anything, you saggy tit!”


	7. What's the way of love?

_D. Agger has started a conference._

_A. Arbeloa: Are you sure we should be doing this?  
P. Crouch: It’s computer class. We’re using computers. What’s wrong with that?  
D. Kuyt: Besides, the school gave us our own messenger IDs. Surely we have their blessing.  
Y. Benny Noon: THE SCHOOL GOT MY NAME WRONG.  
P. Crouch: Where the fuck are Dan and Fernando?  
J. Reina: Do you really want to know?  
F. Torres: We can read your messages, you know.  
D. Kuyt: Oh, shoot, I just missed what Big Sam said. What the fuck is a fruit loop statement?  
D. Agger: FOR LOOP, KUYT. Jesus Christ.  
Y. Benny Noon: IS ANYONE LISTENING TO ME?  
Y. Benny Noon: IS ANYONE LISTENING TO ME?  
Y. Benny Noon: IS ANYONE LISTENING TO ME?  
Y. Benny Noon: IS ANYONE LISTENING TO ME?  
Y. Benny Noon: IS ANYONE LISTENING TO ME?  
J. Reina: Forchrissakes, who the fuck is this Benny doing some serious capslock abuse?  
Y. Benny Noon: SEQWEIAPDIAPSIQPWUEQWDADAIUAOUEQOWEPAPODPAOFPQADASAFQERFEFRP  
J. Reina: Dagger, can you remove this hacker? I think it’s a bug.  
D. Kuyt: I don’t understand anything Big Sam is saying! Remind me why we’re taking C-Language again.  
D. Agger: Bloody hell, Kuyt. Just copy-paste this._

_#include (stdio.h)_

_main(void)  
{  
int num;  
for(num=1; num ++)  
printf (“%d”, num);  
getch();  
}_

_P. Crouch: Oh, hey. Thanks, Danny.  
A. Arbeloa: Thanks, Danny.  
J. Reina: Thanks, Danny.  
D. Kuyt: Thanks, Danny.  
Y. Benny Noon: THANKS, DANNY.  
F. Torres: Thanks, Danny.  
D. Agger: Leechers, all of you.  
F. Torres: I owe you one.  
J. Reina: OHAI, KEEP IT IN, BOYS. No promising of sexual favours while we’re all here, plzkthx.  
D. Agger: Stop talking like you’re a 15-year-old girl on Myspace, Pepe.  
J. Reina: Fuck off.  
F. Torres: And I was not proposing sexual favours. I’m not a slut, thanks very much.  
D. Agger: And I was not accepting sexual favours. I’m not... Okay, well, I am. But, yeah._

_P. Crouch has left the conference.  
D. Kuyt has left the conference.  
A. Arbeloa has left the conference.  
J. Reina has left the conference._

_F. Torres: Well, fuck._

_F. Torres has left the conference.  
D. Agger has left the conference._

_Y. Benny Noon: WHERE IS EVERYONE?  
Y. Benny Noon: HELLO?  
Y. Benny Noon: GUYS?  
Y. Benny Noon: I AM NOT A BUG.  
Y. Benny Noon: ...HELLO?_

*

Xabi’s phone rang persistently for about the third straight time. He didn’t even need to check the name to know who was calling him.

“Well, aren’t you answering that?” Pepe asked, busily pulling off his gloves.

Xabi looked at his mobile, buzzing again, and shrugged. “Nah, it’s not important.”

“Can’t be unimportant if it keeps ringing.” A voice pointed out. Xabi glanced up, and it was Stevie, sitting on the bench, kicking off his muddy boots. Xabi offered a small smile, but Stevie just went back to untying the stubborn knot of his left shoe.

Ignoring the pang of hurt, Xabi turned around and grabbed his phone. “What?” he hissed down the line.

“Why, hello to you too,” a cheery voice greeted. “Is training finished? Because I’m almost done here at the paper too.”

“Yeah, training’s over.” Xabi gnawed at his bottom lip and looked around. Stevie was still avoiding his gaze but he knew he was probably listening in as closely as he could.

“Do you wanna hang out?” Harry asked, and Xabi could faintly hear the rustling of paper being shuffled and rearranged.

The Spaniard took a deep breath. “I can’t.”

A pause. “Why not?”

“Ha—” Xabi caught himself before he said Harry’s name. “I just can’t. I... I have to run extra laps,” he quickly fibbed.

“I can wait,” Harry said nonchalantly.

“No, you can’t,” Xabi blurted out.

An exasperated grunt. “What’s going on?”

Xabi momentarily put down his phone and made his way to the corridor where he could talk to Harry in private. He met Stevie’s gaze as he was crossing the locker room. The captain shook his head and just shrugged at him helplessly. Ducking his head, ashamed, Xabi hurriedly exited.

“What’s going on?” Harry was asking again.

“Look, Rafa found me out,” Xabi retorted.

“Oh, shit. Xabi, I’m sorry.”

“Exactly,” Xabi threw a hand up in the air, “I’m this close to losing a spot in the starting line-up, so, no, I can’t meet up with you tonight. Or anytime soon.”

“What?” Harry demanded. “I understand lying low and putting your best foot forward for the Chelsea game. But... ever?” He trailed off in frustrated confusion.

“Because! Harry, I want some sense of my normal life back, don’t you get it?” Xabi asked, getting riled up increasingly. “I want to be on form again and understand my Algebra. I want to get to training on time and not miss class.”

“Look, I apologise that you got caught cutting. I really am,” Harry said sincerely. “But why do we have to stop meeting each other? What does that have to do with your grades, or your form on the pitch?” Harry sighed, “I don’t know how to explain this. But if you want your normal life back, sure. Go for it. But why can’t I be part of it?”

Xabi rested his head against the cool wall. “Because I already have Stevie.”

“And Stevie is your ‘normal life,’” Harry laughed bitterly.

“No!”

“Then what is it?” Harry demanded.

Xabi gritted his teeth. “Hey, when we started seeing each other, you knew I was with Stevie, and you knew I wasn’t going to give that up anytime soon.”

It seemed like Harry was going to argue back, but he stopped, sighed and gave up. “Fine. Call me when you need someone to fuck around with again,” he snapped, and then the line went dead.

*

Harry stared off moodily into the colourful array of ice cream and huffed. This was such a dilemma. To buy or not to buy dessert? It was bad enough that he was dumped, he didn’t want to be fat too. But on the other hand, bingeing was the only thing he could think of to make himself feel better. Harry huffed again.

“Well?” The waitress asked impatiently. “Are you getting anything?”

“I’m thinking!” Harry snapped crossly. The waitress rolled her eyes and popped her gum. This was too much trouble for a part-time job that only paid the minimum wage.

Chocolate or strawberry? Harry mused. Chocolate was always the pity-party staple. But at least strawberry would give him an illusion of healthiness to his pigging out. Harry frowned. Fucking hell. He looked up distractedly when someone approached the stall and leaned on the counter next to him.

“Oh, hey, Kewell,” the newcomer nodded at him.

Harry’s gaze darkened, but he still greeted back, “Hey, Stevie.”

“Getting ice cream?”

Harry slumped tiredly. “You go first.”

Stevie shrugged and smiled at the waitress, “Three scoops of chocolate ice cream please. On a wafer cone.”

The waitress nodded, obviously relieved to have a fully-functional customer, and attended to the order. “At least you could make up your mind,” she told Stevie, before pointedly glaring at Harry.

Harry threw up his hands in the air. “Fine! I’ll have chocolate too.”

“Sorry, laddie,” the old woman said, handing Stevie his cone, “That was the last of it.”

Harry’s jaw dropped. “WHAT?” He screeched and turned to look at Stevie, “I wanted that!”

Stevie stopped mid-lick, “You made me go ahead!”

“So? You didn’t have to take what I was getting,” Harry retorted in irritation.

“Bloody hell, Harry, how was I supposed to know?” Stevie plopped a few coins on the counter and slid it to the waitress.

“You don’t care, as usual,” Harry shot back. “You just take and take and take and you always have to be first in everything.”

“What the fuck is your problem?” Stevie demanded, getting riled up too. “There are ten million other flavours there.”

“I don’t care about the ten million other bloody flavours, I wanted that one, dammit.”

“You didn’t want it when you were just standing there and not ordering. You just want it because I have it.”

“For goodness’ sake, if you’re so dead-set on your chocolate, I’ll open you a new gallon,” the waitress interrupted in exasperation.

“I don’t want a new gallon,” Harry answered. “I want what’s mine and I saw that first.”

“Kewell, it’s just ice cream.”

“It’s not just about ice cream. It’s about the amazing Captain Steven Gerrard thinking everything he lays his eyes on should be his just because he’s big and fucking hard,” Harry explained almost hysterically, all his frustration just gushing out.

Stevie shook his head in disbelief and walked away. “I’m not even bothering with this.”

“The chocolate doesn’t fucking even want you anyway!” Harry called out furiously, but Stevie just kept on walking, licking at _Harry’s ice cream_.

Harry huffed, trying to calm himself down. The waitress looked at him sceptically. “You want strawberry? It’s also one of our bestsellers.”

Harry growled at her. “I’m not hungry anymore.” He spun around on his heel and stalked off. His stomach growled loudly as he was waiting in the bus stop, but he ignored it. At least he won’t get fat, he thought bitterly.

*

Dan turned his face up to meet the hot blast of the shower, exhaling long and deep, letting the water ease the aching of his tired muscles. After a few long minutes under the stream, he turned off the tap and reached for the soap, working up a lather and scrubbing his body thoroughly to rid it of the mud and sweat.

It started by accident—his fingers unintentionally brushing over his member as he bent down to soap up his legs. But as he worked his way up, he let his hand touch it again, more deliberately now, gripping the flesh tightly. Dan let out a low groan, thankful he was in his own bathroom and not in the communal showers of the gym.

He let his eyes drift close, thinking back on today’s training session. He had just stormed back into the locker room, still livid about Stevie’s crude trick. And when he had entered, he was met with the sight of Carra, Sami and Riise practically rolling on the floor, laughing their heads off, tears running down their cheeks. –But they weren’t important details because, bloody hell, Dan wasn’t going to wank off to them.

What was replaying in his head was when he had stomped into the shower room, furious and humiliated and just really needing to hit something, someone, even more so if it was an aging Finn, two mumbling Scousers and a Ginger. But he had just walked into an empty stall, angrily throwing his shower kit on the floor, the toiletries scattering on the tiled floor. Cursing loudly, he had bent down to fix his things when suddenly—

“Short temper?”

Dan hadn’t even needed to look up to know who it was. But he had, because, well, Fernando wasn’t going to take a bath fully-clothed, was he? And damn, when you’re crouching down on the floor and Fernando’s standing above you, that really was quite the angle.

Dan’s grip on his cock grew tighter and he gave a few strong tugs, his breath becoming shorter. He let his other hand roam to his neck, stroking at the sensitive skin before snaking over his chest, and flicking over a nipple.

Dan had slowly stood up and glared at Fernando who only smiled, much to his annoyance. They had held each other’s gazes steadily, neither one daring to blink first, much less look away. Then, Fernando had reached around Dan and opened the shower, the water suddenly bearing down above them, but neither of them had insomuch as flinched.

“You really didn’t think I was going to fool around with Stevie, did you?” Fernando had been the first to speak up.

Dan had retorted. “It seemed too real to just be pretend.” Then, Dan had let his hands hook around Fernando’s waist, cupping his ass possessively.

Fernando had moaned and it had sent darts of pleasure to Daniel’s cock. Daniel had yanked him close and crashed their lips together, kissing passionately, tongues slipping against each other’s fervently.

“Did you hit him?” Fernando had asked softly, breathlessly, as they broke apart.

Daniel had shaken his head, tucking a wet lock of hair behind the Spaniard’s ear. “Do you want me to?”

Fernando had looked at him in this way he couldn’t explain and then he slowly braced Dan against the wall, tiles cool against his damp back, and the Spaniard had dropped to his knees, just like in the hallway, earlier that day, but this time—

Daniel let out a loud groan, echoing in the bathroom, as tugged at his cock more frantically now, his grip slick with the soap and hot water and pre-come dripping generously from the head. He placed one hand against the wall for balance, before he tightened his right hand into a loose fist and thrust into it, eyes wedged shut, trying to remember the way Fernando had looked when he devoured his cock whole into his mouth.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Dan cursed as he started thrusting into his hand faster. The feeling wasn’t the same, wasn’t as mind-blowing, but the memory was practically burned to his mind, replaying over and over again every chance it got, and his right hand was all he had right now.

Groaning loudly one last time, he came weakly, come splattering all over the wall and dribbling down his legs. Dan let himself slump tiredly against the wall to catch his breath. After he came down from his high, he cleaned himself, dried off and stepped out of the bathroom, wrapping the towel tightly around his waist.

“Enjoyed yourself?” A teasing voice spoke out, and Dan practically jumped out of his skin.

“Jesus Christ, Finns! What the hell are you doing here?” Dan demanded, cheeks flushing a bright red as he realized how loud he must have been.

“Your dad let me in, and I was waiting for you to finish your bath.” The Irishman looked pointedly at Dan’s crotch, “No wonder you took so long.”

Dan busied himself with taking out a fresh pair of clothes to hide his embarrassment.

“Jacking off to Fernando?” Finns asked again, eyes following Dan’s every move around the room.

“No!” Dan denied almost too quickly, dropping his towel to the floor and slipping on a pair of boxers and an old shirt.

“Jacking off to me, then?” Finns pressed.

Dan’s head whipped around to look at his best friend. “No,” he said again, eyeing Finns. “What’s up with you? You’re acting differently.”

Finns sighed and threw himself on Dan’s bed, plopping a pillow over his face to muffle a frustrated scream. “My mom wanted me to start writing practice essays for the entrance exams. And she’s been nagging me to try a couple of universities in the US too, so that would mean I’d have to take the SATs. Have you seen the SATs?? And I have to cut a 2300 if I even want to be on the waiting list of Yale.”

Dan plopped down next to him on the bed and pat his head consolingly. “You want a smoke?”

Finns frowned. “I told you I’ve quit.”

Dan rolled his eyes and brought out a packet of cigarettes he had bummed off Xabi this morning. “You also said we should quit fucking each other but just now you were suggesting that I wank off to you.” Dan handed Finns a cigarette stick and raised an eyebrow, “We both know you’re not a man of your word.”

Finns looked at the cigarette, then at Daniel. He sighed and snatched the stick from Dan’s fingers. “Fine. But just because I’m stressed,” he grumbled. He sat up and dug into the drawer of Dan’s night table for his lighter. He knew the boy’s room inside out. He may not have been in here as often as before, but nothing seemed to have changed. He lit his cigarette, took a long drag. He sighed in relief, relishing the sharp scent of nicotine flooding his nostrils again. Dan grinned at him smugly.

“What?” Finns yelped innocently.

Dan shook his head. “Oh, Stephen. You’re still so easy.”

Finns scowled. “I’m not easy. I’m only having one cigarette.” Dan glanced at him, unconvinced. Finns rolled his eyes. “Just one! And I was only joking about you wanking off to me. I said we’re over and I meant it.”

Dan shrugged and laid back against the pillows, watching the smoke he blew dissipate into the air.

Finns uneasily broke the silence, but he tried to make it sound like an off-hand comment. “So you _were_ wanking off to Fernando.”

The Irishman held his breath. Waited for Dan to disagree or joke that, no, it was Finns, and he was masturbating to the memory of all the times they fucked on this very bed and that very bathroom (and the closet, and the desk, and the window sill and against the bedroom door).

But the younger man didn’t even bother replying. Finns turned to face Dan and he was staring off into nothingness, fingers absentmindedly playing with his cigarette, a sated grin spread across his face. Maybe that was really all the answer Finns needed.

*

Xabi was just about to head to the exit when he noticed the lights were still on in the tunnel. Wondering who could still be here at this time of the night, he went down the corridor and pushed open the door leading to the pitch. A blast of cold air hit him and hugging his jacket closer to his body, he went outside. A dark figure was already there, standing along the sidelines, looking solemnly at the empty stands.

He really should have turned around and walked away. It felt like a private moment he was intruding on. But this may be his only chance, so against his better judgment, Xabi spoke up.

“The atmosphere’s going to be electric tomorrow night.”

The man turned around, surprised that he wasn’t alone. When he saw it was Xabi, he just nodded briefly before returning his gaze on the stadium. Xabi sighed and approached his captain, tentatively placing a hand on his shoulder.

“Are you okay?”

Stevie scuffed his shoe on the concrete. “I just want this season to be perfect.”

Xabi rubbed the small of Stevie’s back soothingly. “It will be. You don’t have to be nervous.”

“I’m not—” Stevie paused, sighed then relented. “Maybe a little.”

Xabi smiled. “I can read you too well.”

Stevie shook his head, laughing bitterly, “I wish I could say the same for myself.”

Xabi stood there, stunned, a pang of guilt slicing through his insides. He guessed the issue couldn’t stay unmentioned for long.

Stevie rubbed his temples and tried again. “So, why are you still here this late?”

“I talked to Rafa,” Xabi answered, relief evident in his voice that the topic had been shelved, at least for now. “I sorted some things out with him. Apologized.”

Stevie nodded. “That’s great, Xabs,” he offered a small, genuine smile.

“Rafa told me about what happened,” Xabi took a deep breath. “You shouldn’t have stood up for me.”

Stevie replied softly. “You know I couldn’t do that.”

“Are you... are you still mad at me?”

Stevie laughed bitterly at himself. “You know I couldn’t do that either.”

“You aren’t even looking at me.”

Stevie grunted and reluctantly tore his gaze away from the stadium, only to meet Xabi’s eyes for a split-second before averting it again.

“See?” Xabi cried out helplessly.

Stevie threw his hands up in the air in frustration, “Jesus, Xabi, I can’t, okay?” He paced away from Xabi and plopped down on the bench, gripping the sides tightly. “If I look at you, I won’t be able to hold out any longer. And I don’t want to do that because I still want an explanation from you.”

Xabi remained rooted in the spot, burying his face in his hands, trying to gather all his strength—honesty—but he couldn’t find any.

“I at least deserve it, Xabi,” Stevie said, shoulders sagging, the hard edge in his voice dissipating.

“Stevie,” Xabi approached his captain on the team dugout. And he wondered why nobody ever told him this wouldn’t be easy. Stevie looked up at him finally. And he looked up at him expectantly. And now, Xabi was beginning to wish he hadn’t.

“Don’t you love me anymore, Xabi? Is that it?” Stevie blurted out, and he seemed embarrassed at seeming so vulnerable, but it had to be asked.

Xabi’s jaw dropped. “No!” He sank down on the bench next to Stevie and laid his hand on Stevie’s knee. “Far from it.”

“Then what’s happening?” Stevie asked in frustration. “This doesn’t feel like any other fight we’ve had before.” And Stevie didn’t want to admit it, but that fact scared him. Not a lot of things could do that.

Xabi wanted to die inside. How could Stevie just sit there with his heart in his hand? He couldn’t return that gesture with the truth—not when it would be a spit in the eye, a slap to the face.

“Nothing’s happening, baby,” Xabi took Stevie’s hand in his and squeezed it comfortingly. “I’m sorry I haven’t been around you, the boys, the team. I’ve just...” He took a deep breath and stared straight at Stevie, unblinking, “I’ve just needed a break—” Stevie’s eyes widened, but Xabi continued quickly, “From football.”

Stevie blinked. “Why?”

Xabi shrugged and even he was shocked at how easily the words rolled off his tongue. “I can’t stand the pressure, Stevie. Masch has been massive these last few weeks in training, and I know Rafa really wants him to take my position. And Lucas and Momo are competing for CM too. It’s just...” Xabi sighed and prepared for the final blow. “I’m so used to playing alongside you, I’m so scared I might lose that chance.”

Stevie sat motionless for a while. And Xabi’s heart raced because what if Stevie knew better than Xabi gave him credit for?

“Xabi, I don’t know a lot of things, but I’m not stupid.” Stevie said steadily. “But I don’t want to get to the point where I’m wondering if you’re telling me the truth. I don’t like feeling like I can’t trust you. I’m not that type of person.”

Stevie sighed and continued, “No bullshit. Pure and simple—” Xabi saw Stevie momentarily glance down at their clasped hands, “Just tell me that things are fine between us and I’ll believe you.”

Xabi’s grip on Stevie’s hand tightened fiercely. Their palms were cold and clammy, and it probably wasn’t because the night was freezing.

“Stevie, you have nothing to worry about.”

*

“Leave.”

Fernando removed his earphones. “Excuse me?”

“Well?” Harry asked impatiently. “What are you waiting for? Unless you have plans of watching. I don’t mind an audience.”

Harry stood by the doorway, tapping his foot. Around his arm was this freshman Fernando’s sure he’s seen in school. She couldn’t be missed. Her skirt was around 6 inches above the regulation length. And how she looked delighted now, giggling flirtatiously as she eyed both Harry and Fernando

“What? Here? I need sleep!” Fernando yelped. “I have a game tomorrow.”

“I’ll be there to cheer you guys on,” the girl interrupted, popping her gum and winking at the Spaniard.

Fernando and Harry exchanged weary looks. The striker sighed and stood up. He smirked as he passed by Harry to get his jacket, muttering under his breath, “I see you’ve moved on from smart brunettes to blonde airheads.”

“Yeah, next thing you know, I’ll be banging you next,” Harry sneered back.

“I wouldn’t let you touch me.”

“Oh, is that what you tell Daniel too?” Harry shot back, knowing full well that the two hadn’t slept together yet. “Because I can assure you Finns is perfectly willing to give Agger a good fuck if you don’t put out soon.”

“You fucking bastard,” Fernando shoved him away angrily as he made his way to the door.

“We won’t be long,” Harry waved him off. “You can come back before curfew.”

“You bet I had better. If I miss tomorrow’s game—well, Stevie has enough reasons for tracking you down and castrating you,” Fernando warned before leaving their dorm room, slamming the door after him.

*

“So, how are you doing?” Finns propped himself up on one elbow, absently tracing the pattern of Dan’s duvet.

“I’m okay,” Dan shrugged and sighed. “It’s just that—Do you promise not to laugh at me?”

“Of course not,” The Irishman sat up and looked down at Dan who was lying down on the bed next to him.

“I...” Dan trailed off and a hint of pink spread across his cheeks. “I can’t stop thinking about Fernando, it’s driving me crazy.”

Finns was taken aback. He wasn’t expecting that. Well, he was, but he didn’t expect the confession to be so straightforward.

“That’s so unlike you,” was the only thing Finns could mumble out.

“I know!” Dan plopped a pillow above his face and groaned. “Stevie was flirting with him this afternoon and something in me snapped—”

“When they got Harry to flirt with me, you didn’t do anything,” Finns murmured.

“—The other day in Chemistry, we were studying moles and I couldn’t concentrate because all I kept thinking about was freckles. Fernando has freckles on his hipbone that I’ve been dying to lick since I saw it during training. And History is probably the only class I’ve ever looked forward to attending, just because he’s there, even if Pepe’s a big turd and insists on sitting between us. And when I see him in school, I swear to god, it takes every last ounce of self-control not to bang him against the nearest flat surface,” Dan continued in one long, breathless gush.

“Oh. Wow.” Finns blinked. “Well, maybe it’s not so bad. Surely this isn’t the first time you’ve felt this way?” He prodded.

Surely, you must have felt like that when were together, Finns added to himself. Sure, he didn’t have any features that were associable to a concept in Chemistry. (What was so great with freckles anyway? Didn’t they know it was a melatonin malfunction? Why in the world was that sexy?) And sure, he didn’t have any classes with Dan because they weren’t in the same year. But Dan must have wanted to fuck him every chance he got, right?

“Well, no.” Dan said bluntly. He admitted, “This feels different.”

The Irishman’s jaw dropped. He found himself scowling. “You’re gross. I never had you for a sap, Daniel.”

A flicker of annoyance flashed in the Dane’s eyes, but he bit his lip reluctantly. He didn’t take shit from anyone, but Finns was his best friend.

“You think so?” Dan asked.

“Of course!” Finns said. “I can’t believe you’re letting yourself get caught up in this. Have you fucked him yet?”

Dan frowned. “No.”

“What? Why not?”

“It just hasn’t happened yet.”

Finns stared at the younger boy in disbelief. “What else is there?”

Dan seemed as if he were about to protest, but he just shut his mouth and shrugged listlessly.

“Well, then, that’s it,” Finns shrugged. “Just fuck him and be done with it. Trust me, all this nauseating mushy crap will fade away in no time.”

Dan picked at a stray thread on his comforter. “I guess you’re right.”

Finns let his fingers caress Dan’s cheek. Dan looked up in confusion, but Finns just placed a kiss on his forehead. “Danny, would I lie to you?”

Dan sighed and lit himself a cigarette. He was getting stressed. “Let’s talk about something else.”

“Good,” Finns said, sounding relieved. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something.”

“About what?” Dan asked, lazily breathing out the smoke.

“Well,” Finns stammered unsurely. About us?

But the shrill beeping of Dan’s mobile sliced through the conversation.

“Go on,” Dan motioned, as he quickly checked who had texted him.

“I was just thinking,” Finns took a deep breath, “Maybe we should start hanging out again.”

“We do hang out,” Dan mumbled distractedly reading the message from his phone. “We hang out a lot, actually.”

“That’s not what I mean!” It was embarrassing enough already without having to spell it out for Daniel.

“Hm?” Dan looked up briefly from texting.

“Who’s texted you now?” Finns said exasperatedly.

Dan smiled sheepishly, “Can you just give me a minute?”

Finns sighed and nodded. Dan hopped off the bed, stubbing his half-finished cigarette on his desk. Dan would never leave a smoke unless it was important.

“Hey.” Finns heard Dan say with almost a disarming gentleness to the tone. “Are you alright? You sounded furious in your message. ...Oh, Harry again, huh?” Dan laughed. “Do you want me to meet up with you? I could keep you company.”

Finns’ jaw dropped. He tossed a pillow at Dan. It hit him square in the back. Dan spun around and threw him a dirty look.

“No, it’s fine. It’s not a hassle, really,” Dan said.

Finns stalked up to Dan and hissed in his ear, “Grovelling? You’re pathetic, Agger.”

Dan looked up and shoved him away in irritation, flipping him a finger. “Sure, I’ll meet you there in 15. Okay, bye.”

Dan snapped close his mobile and glared at Finns. “What is up your ass, Finnan?”

He stalked to his closet and brought out a fresh pair of jeans and a shirt. Finns tried not to stare as his best friend dressed up.

“I suppose you’re off to meet up with your Spaniard,” Finns said wryly.

“Yeah, I am,” Dan said matter-of-factly. He slipped on his trainers, “I don’t suppose you’ll have a problem with that, right?”

Finns laughed off the question, but Dan stared at him, waiting for a response.

“Why the bloody hell would I care?” Finns retorted.

“You tell me,” Dan said, spritzing himself with some perfume. “You’re the one acting fucked up.”

Finns sighed and shook his head. “Never mind. Let’s just talk about it when you’re done acting like such a horny bastard.”

He nodded at Dan curtly then left without another word. Dan stared after him in disbelief. What had just happened here?

*

Dan smiled to himself as he spotted Fernando curled in a couch in the corner of the coffee shop. He walked over to him—it felt like he couldn’t get there fast enough and his legs were as heavy as lead.

Fernando looked up and a smile spread across his features, “Dan, hey.” He scooted over to give the defender some space. Dan sank down on the couch next to him and collected him in his arms. Fernando happily nestled in.

“Bad day?”

“Yes,” Fernando grumbled.

“Are you going to wait here all night for Harry to finish?”

“Yes,” Fernando said again.

“You want me to go back with you to your dorm room and I can rough Harry up for you?” Dan offered.

Fernando laughed. “Nah. Let him be. At least he’s not shagging Xabi anymore.”

“He’s not—WHAT?”

“Yes!” Fernando said, relieved he finally had someone to tell. “Do you know how stressful it is seeing them get together every night in my bedroom?”

Dan shook his head incredulously. “Shit.”

“Exactly,” Fernando replied, tugging Dan’s jacket and pressing himself closer against Dan’s chest. A warm, tingling feeling spread all over Dan and he thought that maybe Finns was right. He had become an insufferable, romantic bastard. But maybe it wasn’t all that bad.

Dan placed a soft kiss on Fernando’s forehead before he could stop himself. “Do you want to crash at my place instead?”

Fernando regarded him unsurely. “I’m fine just waiting here.”

“Come on,” Dan insisted. “I can drop you off at the dorm tomorrow morning just before we head to the pre-match training.”

Fernando shrugged and grinned, “Sure thing.”

They untangled themselves from each other and stood up. And Dan couldn’t remember who reached out first but walking out of the cafe, they had somehow linked hands and neither made the move to pull away.

*

“Do you want anything to eat?” Dan asked, flitting to the pantry and the refrigerator and he wondered why he was such a nervous wreck.

Fernando leaned against the counter and stared at the defender in confusion. “Are you alright, Daniel?”

“What?” Dan smiled, compulsively putting out a number of food items on the table. “Of course I’m alright. Why wouldn’t I be alright?”

Fernando shrugged and twisted open the lid of a random jar. “What is this?”

Dan stopped and approached Fernando, examined the bottle in his hands. “It’s Nutella, genius.”

“What’s that?” The Spaniard asked, sniffing at the gooey, brown substance suspiciously.

“Chocolate spread?”

“...Spread?”

“On bread?”

“Why would anyone want chocolate on their bread?” Fernando asked in confusion.

Dan lifted a butter knife from the table, smeared some Nutella on a slice of bread and held it out for Fernando to taste. Fernando stared at it disgustedly.

“Just taste it,” Dan nagged.

Fernando rolled his eyes and leaned close, taking a tentative bite. He wrinkled his nose after a few chews. “That’s gross.”

Fernando dipped a spoon in the Nutella and took out a dollop. Dan shouldn’t really have stared, but Fernando was staring at his chocolate-coated spoon so intently. And then that pink tongue darted out to lick at the top, and Dan had to grip the edge of the counter tightly to keep himself level-headed.

“It tastes better by itself,” Fernando said thoughtfully, licking his lips. That fucking tease.

“Uh, great, that’s great,” Dan stammered.

“You want some?” Fernando offered innocently.

‘Want some?’ Dan’s inner voice screamed hysterically. Absofuckinglutely he wanted some. He wanted to hold the boy down and smear him in sauce and just lick him all over and... Oh, god.

“Let’s go up to my room,” Dan said tightly.

“Wha—” Fernando protested, but Dan had dragged him up the stairs already. If his mother showed up at the kitchen unannounced and caught him licking Nutella off Fernando’s stomach, he’d be deported back to Denmark before he could even say “We’rejustHistorypartnersIpromise!”

Dan slammed the door behind him and locked it securely. He watched Fernando look around his room, intrigued, all the while still faithfully eating his chocolate spread.

“I’m sorry the bed’s a mess,” Dan said, hastily collecting all the cigarette butts and dumping them in the trash can. “Finns came over earlier.” 

Fernando stopped and turned around, a curious expression upon his face. “Finns was here?” He asked strangely, watching Dan smooth out the bed covers and put the pillows back in place.

“Yeah,” Dan said nonchalantly. “He’s been dropping by more often because he’s getting stressed from all the graduate work load.”

Well, that did it. If Fernando wasn’t playing then, he was definitely competing now. For the fucking win.

He casually dipped his index finger in chocolate sauce and held it out for Danny. The defender froze. Fernando raised an eyebrow, as if daring him to turn away. And Dan, he would never back down from such a direct order. He smiled and obediently took the finger between his lips, letting his tongue run over every digit, licking it clean and then some.

“I didn’t know you had a food kink,” Fernando moaned as Dan lightly smeared Nutella over Fernando’s thin lips.

Dan bent down, tongue flicking teasingly over the sauce, before pressing their mouths together in a sticky, chocolate-coated kiss.

Dan broke away and smiled triumphantly at the dazed Spaniard, “Trust me, I didn’t know I had a food kink either.”

Fernando grinned and stepped back, effortlessly shrugging off his jacket. Then his shirt. His belt and jeans and shoes and socks were quick to follow. Dan stood there, blinking, trying to regain some sense of it all. But Fernando climbed on his bed and spread out on the sheets and looked at him in this innocently come-hither sort of way that made Dan feel dirty, but he didn’t care.

“Fuck me,” Fernando said simply.

Dan struggled to strip off as well and climbed on the bed. He nervously straddled Fernando, “We have a game tomorrow.”

“So?” Fernando asked, lying down underneath the defender.

“Maybe we shouldn’t do this,” Dan breathed.

Fernando hesitated and for a moment, he felt unsure. “—Don’t you want me?” Is it because of Finns? He added silently.

Dan’s eyes widened and he shook his head vehemently. “God, no, of course I want you.” He let his hands caress down Fernando’s side. The Spaniard arched ever so slightly.

“Then what is it?”

Dan took a deep breath. I don’t want to fuck you because I want to show you you’re more than just a one-night stand?

...Where the fuck was this crap coming from?

Fernando deftly hooked one leg around his waist and pulled him down. His eyes were dark with lust and Dan didn’t miss the way his erection pressed against his hip.

“Oh, fuck it.” Dan groaned and held Fernando down against the mattress.


	8. It's nothing but time and a face that you lose

Dan’s eyes fluttered open and he groaned painfully as the first burst of sunshine burnt at his eyes. The fog of sleep slowly lifted, and he wished it hadn’t because now the thoughts were loud and scrambled and screaming in his mind, his head started pounding painfully.

Shit. Just how much did he have to drink last night?

He tried to sit up but his arms felt heavy and uncoordinated, he ended up falling back to the side. And hitting the sleeping person next to him. The lump under the covers grumbled.

A shiver ran down Daniel’s spine.

Holy shit.

He threw back the duvet—this was not his duvet—and stared at his companion.

“Oh. Fuck.”

Finns stirred at the sound. Then once he recognized those words, that voice, his eyes flew wide open.

“Oh. Fuck.” Finns echoed hollowly.

Dan struggled to his feet, ignoring the dull, thumping pain at the back of his head screaming at him to lie down again.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Dan cursed out loud, his tone starting to get more frantic by the second as he searched around the room for his clothes.

“Dan, I don’t know what—” Finns tried to reason with him.

Dan pointedly ignored his best friend. He leapt into his jeans and plucked his shirt, strewn on Finns’ desk chair. 

“I... I’m sorry,” Finns said helplessly.

Dan knotted his shoes so tightly, shutting his eyes to blink back hot pinpricks of angry tears. He stood up and glared at the Irishman, still lying down on the bed, head cradled in his hands.

“Danny, please,” Finns called out.

“Fuck you, Finns,” Dan said coldly as he made for the door, no looking back. “Fuck you.”

*

12 hours earlier...

_**Liverpool 1-1 Chelsea  
By: Harry Kewell** _

_Frank Lampard salvaged a point for Chelsea after Fernando Torres scored his first goal for Liverpool in a tempestuous battle at Anfield._

_Torres opened the scoring in the first half when he was fed by Steven Gerrard before slotting past Petr Cech._

_Lampard equalised for Chelsea with a penalty won by Florent Malouda, who was fouled by Steve Finnan._

_That decision was contested by the Reds in a pulsating, yet niggly, match that saw nine yellow cards handed out._

_The talking point in Monday's press will be the performance of referee Rob Styles, although there will undoubtedly be column inches reserved for a fine performance by Torres._

_(Continued on page 7)_

*

“Alright, lads,” Stevie stood up on his chair and bellowed loudly to catch everybody’s attention. “First round of beers for the season is on the captain!”

The team cheered loudly.

“And the second round is on the vice-captain, our lovely host for today.” Stevie gestured at Carra who was red in the face.

“You boys had better not thrash this place. I only got this VIP room to ourselves as a favour from my boss,” Carra warned.

“And how about a round from our man of the match?” Dan nudged Fernando as they settled down on one side of the booth.

“Everyone was great today,” Fernando mumbled in embarrassment.

“Hey, Agger, how about a reward for our goalscorer, eh?” Penns called out, raising a beer bottle to the pair. It was obvious that Fernando’s cheeks were burning a bright red even as he shyly burrowed his face into Dan’s shoulder. Dan laughed and pat the Spaniard’s head.

“Come on, Danny, what are you waiting for?” Crouch egged him on. “If Torres doesn’t score any more goals this season, it’ll be all your fault.”

Danny and Fernando exchanged wry smiles. The defender raised an eyebrow at him, as if to ask if it was okay. Fernando just shrugged and laughed, “I guess you should just do it.”

Dan briefly glanced at the boys—“We won’t look, we promise!”—and tipped Fernando’s chin up and met his lips into a kiss. Fernando tilted his head to the side to give Dan more access, and his tongue slipped in effortlessly, probing into the Spaniard’s mouth.

After a few seconds, they broke apart and Dan whispered, “Just think of what you’ll get if you score a hat-trick.”

Fernando smirked, “I’d let you do a hat-trick on me.” And he smiled up at the defender so shyly, Dan wondered how filthy words could come out of a mouth that could smile just as innocently.

He kissed Fernando again, more fervently this time, and even the Spaniard was taken aback at the ferocity, but he gladly reciprocated. Dan didn’t miss that quiet little sigh of pleasure when he sucked at Fernando’s bottom lip.

“Dan, you horny bastard!” Riise threw a random cigarette packet at the two. It bounced off Dan’s head before it landed on the floor. “Yossi’s going to get scandalized.”

Dan pulled away and glared at their teammates, hopelessly trying to stifle their wolfish grins and failing badly. (Well, except for Yossi, who was sitting there, shell-shocked.)

“Lighten up, Agger.” Dirk laughed. “You know this is just the obligatory harassment of the new couple.”

Fernando and Dan squirmed uneasily, exchanged glances before quickly looking away and nursing their beers instead.

“Kuyt, I don’t think they’re—” Crouch explained awkwardly.

The table descended into an awkward silence.

Carra coughed loudly and lifted the bucket of beer. “So! Carlsberg, anyone?”

*

“Do you want me to drop you off at your team get-together? I’m going out with Miki Arteta and Carra’s pub is along the way,” Mikel said, fixing his hair in the bathroom he shared with his younger brother.

Xabi shook his head as he emptied his kit bag into the laundry. “I... I’m running a few errands before going to the pub.”

Mikel looked at Xabi sternly through the mirror. “Errands? At,” he checked his wristwatch, “Nine in the evening?”

Xabi shrugged noncommittally, “I just have to pass by the school.”

Mikel raised an eyebrow. “Right. Tell Harry I said hi then.”

“I’m not meeting Harry!” Xabi denied, refusing to meet his older brother’s gaze.

He concentrated fully on washing his hands by the sink and soaping his hands with a little too much force. When he looked up, Mikel was still staring at him dubiously. He groaned loudly and shook his wet hands at Mikel’s face in irritation.

“I just want to talk to him, okay?” Xabi grudgingly admitted.

“What the hell for?” Mikel demanded. “Didn’t you just patch things up with Stevie, oh, I don’t know, yesterday?”

Xabi scowled. “You’re such a laugh, Mikel. Really.”

“Don’t do it, Xabier,” Mikel warned, following Xabi to his room.

“Don’t worry about me,” Xabi waved him off and gathered his things. “I won’t even take long.”

“Yeah, but...” Mikel sighed helplessly. “Why are you doing this?”

Xabi looked away. “I just want closure,” he answered softly.

“Xabi, the only people who look for closure are those who really don’t want it. You don’t want to end things with Harry Kewell, pure and simple.”

But Xabi shook his head stubbornly. “I’ll see you later,” he said then he walked out the door before Mikel’s words could sink in.

*

Daniel didn’t quite remember how they went from trying to avoid their teammates’ attention to furiously making out in the corner of the pub, but he didn’t really care as long as Fernando stayed straddled on his lap like that, hands grasping painfully at his short, brown hair, his tongue burning hot against Daniel’s.

“Oh god,” Fernando nibbled at his earlobe tenderly and Dan couldn’t help moaning out loud, “Sometimes I think you’re going to be my fucking undoing.”

Fernando giggled against Dan’s skin, “In a good way or a bad way?”

Dan shrugged and placed his hands on Fernando’s hips possessively. “In a way that scares the fuck out of me.”

Fernando stopped and pulled back, looking startled. Dan laughed self-consciously. “Okay, I don’t know what I’m talking about anymore.”

The striker shook his head and laughed it off too, “That’s okay. I’ve heard a lot of things blurted out during the heat of the moment. They never really mean anything.”

They moved to kiss again, but it was restrained now, preoccupied.

Fernando pulled away again and stared at Dan, “Unless they do mean something...?”

Dan threw his head back and grimaced. “I don’t know.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Fernando asked unsurely.

“Do you?”

“I’m not good at talking.”

“I don’t know how these things are done either,” Dan admitted. He’s never done this before. Maybe he was noncommittal, but he was also confrontational. “I’m just tired of beating around the bush.”

“Okay,” the Spaniard answered finally, releasing a shaky breath.

“Relax,” Dan laughed and traced the small love marks beginning to show on Fernando’s neck, “I’m sure my bite is worse than my bark.”

Fernando laughed too and felt a bit more at ease.

“What do you say I get us some drinks and then we can talk?” Dan offered.

Fernando nodded and climbed off Dan’s lap. Dan stood up and grabbed his wallet from his bag, before dutifully bending down again to press another deep, lingering kiss on Fernando’s lips.

“Wow,” Fernando breathed when Dan pulled away.

“Sorry, I—I couldn’t help it,” Dan stammered. When he heard what he said, he shook his head in disbelief at a bemused Fernando. “I think I should go now before I embarrass myself even more, yeah?”

Fernando laughed and just nodded, pushing Dan to the door.

*

Harry was halfway through One Hundred Years of Solitude when he heard a curt knock at his door.

“This had better be important!” He called out warningly. He had an English exam on Monday and it looked like Gabriel Garcia Marquez’s novel would take, well, a hundred years of solitude to finish.

The visitor didn’t answer and Harry felt even more irritated. If this was one of Fernando’s fangirls again, he would seriously cut a bitch.

“What do you want?” Harry threw the door open angrily.

A surprised Xabi Alonso stood in front of him, taken slightly aback.

“...Is this a bad time?” He asked nervously.

Well, Harry could have been receiving the most earth-shattering blowjob of his life and he would still make time for Xabi Alonso. Unfortunately. But Xabi didn’t need to know that.

“Why are you here?” Harry asked coolly.

Xabi shifted his weight from foot to foot. “Is it okay if we talk?”

“No.”

Xabi looked at the Australian imploringly. Harry tried to ignore the healthy flush of pink on Xabi’s cheeks after a long game against Chelsea earlier this day, and that hopeful glint in the Basque’s eyes that could possibly mean that maybe they could—No. _‘Things are over between us,’_ he admonished himself for even thinking the thought.

Harry opened the door a little wider and sighed defeatedly. “Come on in.”

“I was hoping we could have a clean-break talk,” Xabi began, looking around the room he had come to know so well.

“Breaks aren’t supposed to be clean,” Harry laughed bitterly.

“If we don’t cut and cut cleanly, we’re never going to get over...” Xabi trailed off unsurely.

“Get over what?” Harry challenged Xabi to name it.

“...Get over the fact that we’re over.”

“Tell me, what makes you think I’m not over you?”

Xabi shrugged and played with the pens on Harry’s desk. He looked up and smiled shyly at the Australian, “You invited me in, didn’t you?”

*

“Two bottles of Heineken,” Dan placed his order at the bar, slipping the bartender a couple of bills.

“A martini please, double-shot, dry,” a familiar voice said beside him. Dan whirled around and clapped a very miserable-looking Finns on the back.

“Getting wasted?” Dan joked.

“Yeah,” Finns mumbled sullenly.

“Hey,” Dan’s expression softened and he placed an arm around his best friend, “What’s wrong?”

Finns looked up at Danny and laughed, “I’m fine, babe. Run along.”

Dan observed the Irishman worriedly. “Are you sure?” He peered over Finns shoulder to the lounge where the team was. Fernando was still sitting where he had left him, but Stevie had joined him and they were talking animatedly. Dan shrugged at Finns, “I can spare a minute, you know.”

Finns sighed and offered the Dane a small smile, “It will sound pathetic, but... if I hadn’t given away that stupid foul against Malouda today, we would have won the game.”

Dan’s jaw dropped, “Finns!” He exclaimed, “Even Drogba didn’t think that was a foul. And that’s Drogba. He has the pain tolerance of someone with a bad case of sunburn.”

Finns laughed, “Still. It’s still my fault and I’ve let the team down.”

Dan sighed, “Rob Styles is a cunt. No one’s blaming you.”

The Irishman still looked unconvinced.

“Here, you want some beer?” Dan asked, clueless of what else he could do. Finns laughed, “Nah, too weak.”

Dan rolled his eyes. “Fine, I’ll drink a shot with you.”

Finns smiled widely, “Good boy.” He pat the space next to him, and Dan slid on the stool.

The bartender went up to them, “Orders, lads?”

Finns and Dan exchanged glances. Dan nodded towards his best friend, “I’ll have whatever he’s having.”

*

“Do you want me to keep you company a bit longer?” Stevie asked.

Fernando glanced at his watch. It’s been almost an hour. But he offered Stevie a tight smile, “I’m okay, you can leave if you want. I’m sure Dan will be back any minute now.”

Stevie shrugged and reclined on the plush couch, “It’s okay. I told Xabi to text me if he was near already, but it looks like it took him longer than expected.”

“Where is he?” Fernando asked, a bit relieved the attention was off him and the strangely-absent Daniel.

“He said Mikel made him run some errands before going here.”

“I’m sure he’ll be here soon,” Fernando offered the captain a bright smile.

“Yeah,” Stevie laughed. “It would be too fucked if we were both stood up.”

*

“What do you want to know?” Harry asked tentatively, sitting down on his study table.

Xabi sank down on the desk chair and fiddled with his fingers so he wouldn’t have to look at the Australian. “For one, why are you angry at me? I mean, I know things unexpectedly got more serious than we were planning, but I thought there weren’t any strings attached.”

Harry arranged the paper clips by color, by size, in a straight line—he got a bit obsessive-compulsive when he was stressed—“I don’t know. I guess I was just tired of losing out to Captain Fantastic. Again.”

“Again?”

“You know Stevie. He has everything in the palm of his hand. And he doesn’t even have to lift a finger.”

Xabi sighed and dragged the chair to the desk and opening a new box of paper clips to make a line to match Harry’s.

Harry relaxed and tried to explain what he had just said, “I get booed off a lot on the pitch—even when I get injured. Especially when I get injured, actually. And Stevie, I mean, he fractures his toe and the fans are up in arms about whether he should represent the England U-19 squad in a friendly.”

Xabi offers a tentative laugh, but Harry would have none of it.

“And you, why do you think you’re forced to play a little deeper than your natural role? You should be in the centre of the formation, but Stevie wouldn’t want to play on the right. He wants to be the one rampaging forward. So now you have to fend off Mascherano and Momo and Lucas for a defensive midfielder position that you shouldn’t even be in to begin with!”

Xabi’s mouth snapped shut. This was nonsense, right? He’s processed this midfield dilemma ever since the start of the school year. He’s talked about it with Carra, with Stevie, with Rafa. They’ve all agreed he should revert to a holding midfield position.

“And when we first started dating,”—Xabi blushed and he focused on the paper clips, just the paper clips, until the green, blue, yellow and red started swimming together in his eyes—“It was just you and me. Until Stevie started to move in, and I don’t know why he did because it’s not like he gave a shit before. But you had started cementing a starting spot for yourself that year, and you were making a name for yourself with those goals from the halfway line, against Newcastle and against Luton—”

“You remember those goals?”

“Of course I did,” Harry said. “Then Stevie started to notice you, like _really notice you_. As if you had deserved his attention now.”

Harry stopped, partly to catch his breath, partly to stop embarrassing himself. Xabi was staring at him strangely.

“But of course you wouldn’t believe me,” Harry laughed, glancing at Xabi knowingly. “I’m just a bitter old bastard.”

Xabi waved away his explanation and forced a tight smile. “So that’s it? The reason why you’re so angry is because you hate Stevie. He’s a selfish bastard who has everything you want.”

“Well,” Harry said, tossing away Xabi’s last red paper clip because it would make their lines uneven, “He has you. That makes all the difference.”

*

“...And my mom just gave me an application form to UCLA. Do you know where UCLA is? I told her the University of Liverpool has a good reputation but she would have none of it. Out of the schools she’s short-listed, I think Cambridge is the nearest from here,” Finns was muttering against the rim of his glass, but Dan couldn’t focus. His eyelids felt heavy and his head even heavier.

“Are you okay?” Finns asked, and Dan’s eyes fluttered closed as his best friend leaned close to him, his hair tickling the side of his neck.

“They make some strong shit here,” Dan mumbled, his tongue feeling slack. Finns laughed, “It’s nothing we can’t take. Come on, one more shot!”

“No, I can’t,” Dan protested weakly, but Finns had already ordered and that Bloody Mary looked pretty enticing and he vaguely remembered having something important to do, but Finns pressed the shot glass to his hand.

“Don’t be a wuss, Danny,” Finns winked at him. Dan shook his head and sat up, ignoring the spreading heat the alcohol sparked in his stomach, “Fine, one last shot.”

They knocked it back at the same time. Dan squeezed his eyes shut as the shooter dragged a long, hot trail down his throat.

Finns wrapped his arm around Dan’s waist and hoisted him up, “Come on, let’s get you to a booth. You look like you’re going to fall off your chair!”

“No, I’m fine,” Dan tried to push Finns away, but they were both chuckling too hard. They stumbled their way through the crowd before finally collapsing on a small couch.

“Jesus Christ, Finns. I’m gonna get a bloody massive hangover tomorrow,” Dan slurred, slumping down on the seat, sleep seeming like a good idea now.

But when Finns didn’t reply, Dan forced his eyes open lazily. His best friend was staring at him fixatedly.

“What?” Dan asked.

Finns moved closer to him and collected him in his arms. Dan made a sound of objection, but he didn’t have the energy to move away. Besides, this was pretty comfortable and Finns’ shirt was soft against his cheek.

“Is it alright if I do this?” Finns dipped his head to catch Dan’s mouth into a kiss.

Dan felt moisture against his lips and he jumped, a second of sentience and consciousness. “Finns, stop—”

But Finns crashed their mouths together forcefully, slipping in his tongue without permission, one hand keeping Dan’s head in place. Dan moaned in protest—and in, oh god, this felt so good. Familiar and sexy and wrong—but maybe it was sexy because it was wrong. And fuck if Dan really had reasons because his head wasn’t on his shoulders anymore.

Besides, if you’re too drunk to find the one you love, it was better to just love the one you’re with, right?

Finns grabbed Dan’s hand tightly and pressed it against his crotch, making Dan feel the erection inside his best friend’s trousers.

“Fucking hell, Finns,” Dan pulled away and moaned, his hand feeling up the bulge. His eyes rolled to the back of his head when he felt the same tight grip on his own throbbing cock, Finns’ hand placing steady pressure against his groin.

“Have you fucked Fernando yet?” Finns asked, sucking at the pulse point in Dan’s neck.

“Yeah,” Dan answered distractedly, before mewling again at the sensations overwhelming him.

“How was it? Was it good?”

“Oh, fuck, yes,” Dan groaned as Finns pulled down the zipper of his jeans and pushed his hand in his boxers.

“Tell me,” Finns persisted, biting at Dan’s skin and licking to soothe the spot. “Tell me how it felt to fuck the golden boy.”

“He was hot. Hot and tight and wet.” Dan panted, thrusting up into Finns’ hand, his eyes screwed shut, imagining how it felt to be inside Fernando, remembering how the Spaniard looked writhing beneath him, “And it was mind-blowing and so fucking good, Finns.”

“And is it over?” Finns asked.

Dan came in his hand with a loud groan.

Finns smiled and kissed a sated Daniel thoroughly. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

*

“Stop being so worried,” Stevie shoved Fernando playfully.

“I’m not worried!” The Spaniard yelped, but even he wasn’t convinced.

“You’ve been watching the door every time someone enters. You can’t stop checking your watch. Am I really that horrible to be around with that you’re dying to get out?” Stevie laughed.

Fernando let himself relax. “No, of course not. I’m just—”

The Scouser wagged his eyebrows. “Jealous?”

“Why would I be jealous?” Fernando asked nonchalantly.

“Because Pepe just told you earlier that he saw Dan chatting with Finns by the bar?”

“They’re best friends.”

“Exactly,” Stevie winked at Fernando. “So stop stressing yourself about it. They probably just lost track of time. I heard Finns is really beating himself up about that penalty earlier.”

Fernando winced, remembering that completely unfair refereeing decision. “I guess you’re right.”

“Of course I’m right, Torres. If I had to watch Frank Lampard score from a foul I gave away, I would be inconsolable too.”

“Inconsolable?” Fernando bit his lip anxiously. “What if Dan was... _consoling_ him?” 

Stevie’s eyes bugged out. “Wow, you can be pretty neurotic, Nando.”

Fernando frowned. “You really think I’m jumping into conclusions?”

Stevie laughed, “You know I like you, but yes.”

Fernando pouted. Stevie rolled his eyes, “Come on. I’ll even go with you outside to look for your boyfriend.”

“Yay,” Fernando jumped up to his feet happily and dragged Stevie with him out of their lounge. “—Oh, and Daniel’s not my boyfriend.”

“He might as well be,” Stevie snickered as they wove through the crowd to get to the bar, “You’re creaming your pants at the thought of seeing him again after being apart for, what, two hours?”

Fernando teased, “You’re just jealous because Xabi isn’t here.”

They got to the bar but they didn’t recognise anyone there.

“Where could they be?” Fernando asked, nibbling at his thumbnail.

“Stop that,” Stevie said, dragging the Spaniard with him, “They’re just around, for sure. –Oh, look, there they are at the booth. See?”

Fernando felt a huge weight lift off his shoulders as the crowd thinned and they could see Dan and Finns better, seated at an isolated couch, talking between themselves.

“I told you, you had nothing to worry about,” Stevie laughed, and Fernando was going to laugh with him too, until—

“Oh, fuck.” Stevie whirled around to face Fernando, but the Spaniard just stood there, stunned and utterly horrified.

Fucking hell, he wasn’t good at this. Stevie panicked inside as he could just sense Fernando crumbling into a million little pieces watching Dan and Finns kiss—no, make out, and whatever else they were doing under the table that couldn’t be good.

“Uh, maybe we should—”

“You know what?” Fernando faced Stevie, his usually warm brown eyes turned cold and steely. “Sometimes, you can be horribly wrong.”

“Fernando, wait—”

But Fernando had already spun around on his heel and made for the exit. Stevie stood on tiptoes to see where the striker was headed, but the crowd was starting to thicken again. He cursed and ignored the urge to go to that booth and throw a couple of one-two punches for Daniel and Finns, and ran after the boy.

*

“I—I just can’t believe you still have issues,” Xabi found himself saying, breaking a long, surprisingly relaxed silence. “It’s been two years since Stevie and I have gotten together.”

Harry slid off the desk and lay down tiredly on his bed. “I guess you were right then.”

“Right about?” Xabi looked at him in confusion.

Harry flashed the Spaniard a sheepish grin before staring back again at the ceiling. “I’m still not over you.”

In Xabi’s mind, he knew this was all bullcrap and he really shouldn’t be falling for it. Stevie loved him with the same fierce dedication Harry was swearing, if not stronger and for longer.

But there was a strange charm to someone who didn’t have you but hoped to. Stevie loved him, but Harry, he desired him.

Xabi must have jumped off his seat because he really couldn’t have reached Harry’s bed that fast, climbed over his body and crashed their lips together in a tangle of tongues and limbs and sheets.

“Xabi—” Harry interrupted breathily, pushing away reluctantly, “You shouldn’t—”

“Fuck,” Xabi broke apart too and he slapped his forehead angrily. “I-I’m sorry—”

Harry and Xabi sat up and sat apart, looking down at their hands on their laps.

“Let’s forget that happened.”

“It won’t happen again, I promise.”

Harry stole a quick glance at Xabi, and the Spaniard caught him.

“Don’t look at me that way!”

“You were the one who was staring,” Xabi retorted.

“Well, you wouldn’t have caught me if you weren’t looking back too!”

And Xabi knew when he was defeated, so he leapt at Harry again. He couldn’t kiss him fast enough.

*

“I feel like I’ve let you down,” Stevie said, walking up to Fernando who was sitting on the bench by the bus stop. The Spaniard huffed wearily, “You didn’t.”

“I’m sorry?” Stevie offered. He wasn’t good at these things, but he felt he had to do it. He felt an irresistible, protective tendency toward the boy.

“It’s not your fault,” he mumbled.

Stevie sat down on the bench next to him and wrapped an arm around the Spaniard’s shoulders. “At least let me get you a cab so I’m sure you’ll get home safely?”

Fernando didn’t think he had the energy, but his captain, he had a trustworthy smile. So he found himself smiling back weakly and nodding.

“Come on,” Stevie said, standing up and holding out his hand to the Spaniard. Fernando reluctantly took it, and they both made their way to the curb to hail a taxi.

*

“Xabi, no—” Harry contended as he felt Xabi’s hands beginning to work on his belt and something sparked in him. “We wanted a clean break, not... Not break-up sex.”

Xabi tried to kiss the Australian again, to get him to stop talking, but Harry rolled off the bed and stood up. “No,” he said more indignantly now.

“What the fuck? Why are you making this so complicated?” Xabi threw his hands up in the air impatiently. “I’m going to have sex with you. Isn’t that what you want?”

“No!” Harry exclaimed defiantly. “I said I wanted you. I didn’t say I wanted to be some bloody plaything again that you would come back to every now and then when Stevie isn’t looking!”

“Well, that used to be enough for you. You’ve fucked everyone else without any real rhyme or reason for it. Why is this any different?”

“Well, you’re not bloody everyone else, so get off my fucking bed and leave my room!”

Xabi’s jaw dropped. Shaking his head, he stood up and collected his things, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Good night,” Harry said with a soft sigh, opening the door for him.

“You’re really intent on making this hard for me, aren’t you?” Xabi asked, walking up to him.

Harry smiled confidently, pressing a kiss to Xabi’s temple, “I know you’ll come around.”

“Maybe,” Xabi shrugged, still lingering by the doorframe. “You keep turning me away.”

“Maybe I won’t if you stop making me a mistake,” Harry replied smugly.

Xabi laughed, finally tearing himself away from Harry’s room and stepping out into the corridor. “Mistakes aren’t always regrets, Kewell.”

*

“You don’t really have to walk me up to my room,” Fernando said, chuckling as he climbed up the steps to the dormitory entrance with Stevie.

“It’s no big deal,” Stevie said, shrugging nonchalantly, “I might as well since—Oof!” Stevie was collided against Fernando as a tall, dark-haired man brushed past them hastily, busy texting on his mobile.

“Wanker!” Stevie called out at him.

The stranger ignored him and ran to the curb, “Taxi!”

“Why, that fucking twat stole my cab too!” Stevie said, furiously looking over his shoulder as he accompanied Fernando to the elevators.

“Just go after him, then. I can make it to the third floor by myself, you know,” Fernando winked.

“Nah, I’ll just look for another ride later,” Stevie said, pulling his phone out of his pocket as a text message came in. “Xabi just texted,” he looked up, “He said he’s on his way to the pub.”

Fernando nodded as the lift reached his floor and they both stepped out. “So, this is me,” he said, jutting his thumb at his dorm room a few doors down.

Stevie shifted awkwardly from foot to foot. “Alright. Take care, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Fernando grinned guiltily. “Sorry to have bothered you.”

Stevie waved him off and they just stood there for a few uncomfortable seconds.

“Right, come here,” Stevie said, opening his arms and pulling Fernando in a tight hug. “Forget about Danny and Finns.”

“I don’t know how I’ll face them on Monday,” Fernando admitted, his voice muffled as he burrowed in Stevie’s warm embrace.

“Well, if there’s one thing I’ve learned,” Stevie said, pulling away and patting Fernando’s head, “You can tear yourself apart about it, but whatever happens, you never let those bastards see you cry.”

Fernando grinned and nodded. Nothing like a good-night hug and a piece of war strategy to make you sleep better at night. He stood on tiptoes and planted a kiss on Stevie’s cheek. “Good night.”

Stevie stood rooted on the spot, a bit stunned. He touched the wet spot on his cheek and grinned back. “Good night, Niño.”

*

“Oh, hey, I didn’t think you’d be back early,” Harry greeted cheerfully as Fernando entered their room. He pulled his pajamas on and climbed into his unmade bed, “I thought you’d be sleeping over—or sleeping with, whichever you choose—at Agger’s.”

And that was just when it came crashing back down again at Fernando. He sighed and removed his clothes, smelling of smoke and beer and sweat.

“W-what’s wrong?” Harry asked nervously.

Fernando shook his head and climbed into bed with Harry. “Dan and Finns,” he mumbled brokenly, pulling the sheets over his head.

“Oh,” Harry couldn’t come up with anything to say. He stared down at the Spaniard curled up next to him. “Oh no.”

“I know,” Fernando sighed, tracing the tattoo swirling along the length of Harry’s arm.

“I’m gonna beat up that fucking Danish bastard.”

“He’s bigger than you, you know.”

“So? I have some other friends who are bigger than Agger and have more tattoos than him. We could take him on.” Harry offered, looking at Fernando expectantly, hoping he could at least get a smile from him. But the boy just shook his head and his frown deepened.

“Let’s just go to sleep,” Fernando said, pressing his face against Harry’s shoulder. Harry nodded and reached over to flick off the lights.

“Is it okay if I stay here?” Fernando asked almost shyly.

Harry smiled at him sympathetically and collected him in his arms, “Of course. You just stay right here.”

*

Dan paced up and down the hallway in front of the Biology laboratory. He had gone to school extra early in the hopes of catching Fernando before he attended his first class.

“Dan!” A relieved voice called out.

Dan closed his eyes and thanked the Gods of Good Timing, but when he spun around, it was Finns who was trotting up to him.

“Can we talk?”

“No—” Dan protested, turning away, pacing up and down the corridor again to look for the Spaniard.

“Danny, please—” Finns begged, grabbing him by the arms and forcing Dan to face him.

“Fuck it, Finns!” Dan tried to pull away, but Finns wouldn’t let go, “Not now, I have to talk to—Fernando!” Dan exclaimed just as he spotted Fernando approaching.

And maybe he was expecting him to burst into a fit, scream at him (at them), call him names, burst into tears or hit him with a mean right-hook. And maybe those—any of those—might have been so much better than what Fernando really did.

Because he just glanced at Dan. Then Finns. Then nodded at them coolly before sweeping past them without a word.

Dan weaselled out of Finns’ grip and stared after Fernando who had now disappeared inside his classroom. There was a sinking in his stomach and a heavy thumping as his heart crashed against his ribcage with every beat.

How was it possible to mess things up before they even started?


	9. The space between our wicked lies

“What are you doing in the cafeteria this early?”

Stevie poked the crusty bread on his plate, “I was rushing for an early meeting with Rafa and I forgot to eat breakfast. You?”

Fernando dropped his bag on the table and sank down on the chair, “It’s a long story.”

Stevie waved around his food, “Talk me through my ham and egg sandwich. I think it’s the only way I’ll survive it.”

Fernando laughed, “My first class today is History and Daniel’s in it. I’m stalling until the very last minute to go in. Hopefully if I enter just before the bell rings, all the seats will be taken, Pepe will already be there and I won’t have to talk to him.”

“Why don’t you want to talk to him?” Stevie peeled off the sides of the bread, “Just tell him he’s a no-good fucktard and be done with it.”

Fernando rolled his eyes and answered dryly, “I’m a lover, not a fighter.”

“Well, if you insist,” Stevie checked his watch, “You have half an hour of waiting to do then. You didn’t have to be in school so early.”

“I couldn’t sleep,” Fernando rubbed the back of his neck tiredly, “And I’ve been cooped up in my dorm room, I’m getting sick of it.”

“Rough night, huh?”

Fernando nodded, pinching off a corner of Stevie’s bread and popping it into his mouth.

“So, you really aren’t going to let this go?” Stevie asked, taking a deep breath then finally biting into his food.

Fernando shrugged listlessly. He seemed like he would explain, but he hesitated then accused, “You’re going to laugh at me.”

“If I do laugh, I promise to do it really, really quietly.”

“Thanks a lot.”

“No, really.”

“It’s just—It feels just like having a losing season, you know? I support Atletico Madrid back in Spain, and every summer the captain, the president, the manager, they tell us this will be the year. We’re going to challenge for the title. We might even win it. We’re going to play in Europe. And you believe it, like, really believe it.”

Stevie stopped smirking for the first time and his expression softened. Because if there’s one thing he knew by heart, it was football.

“And then by December you’re out of the title race and fighting for the seventh, eighth spot,” Fernando laughed sardonically. “So you tell yourself that next season, you’re really going to stop buying those expensive tickets when all you get is a miserable draw. And you’ll stop turning down that party on a Saturday night just because there’s an away game to Mallorca. It’s just—believing, getting let down and it starts all over again when you should have just stayed away after the first mistake.”

The striker sighed and they sat in silence. Outside, the school started to get noisier as more people arrived—shoes scratched against the linoleum floor, doors yanked open and lockers slammed closed.

“I’m just curious,” Stevie spoke up. “...You still support Atletico?”

“Yeah.”

Stevie smiled knowingly and shook his head.

“What?”

“Nothing.” Stevie blinked innocently. Fernando frowned, so Stevie changed the subject before the Spaniard could try again.

“So, tell me about Atletico.”

Fernando’s face broke into a wide smile. “Atleti’s actually a lot like Liverpool.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, it has the same strong working-class support, rich history, fierce local rivalries...”

“That’s great,” Stevie grinned back, leaning forward. “What are your colours?”

“Red and white. We’re called the rojiblancos.”

“Red and white?”

“Stripes, yeah.”

“Red and white stripes? Like...” Stevie paused thoughtfully, “Like candy canes?”

Fernando rolled his eyes, “Yes, Stevie, like candy canes.”

They were both engrossed with exchanging football stories, they almost didn’t hear the warning bell going off.

“Shit, come on,” Stevie said, jumping up to his feet and dumping the contents of his tray in the nearby trash bin. Fernando was at his heels as they both rushed out into the corridors as quickly as they could. But as they neared his History classroom, the Spaniard’s stomach started churning nervously again.

“Can’t I just cut this class?” Fernando slowed down and glanced at Stevie warily. “I really don’t want to see Danny.”

“Oh, come on,” Stevie slung an arm around his shoulders and gave him a reassuring squeeze. “You’ll get through it.”

“What if Danny tries to talk to me? How do I deal with that?” Fernando asked, biting his thumbnail anxiously, peering through the door to check if Pepe the Buffer Zone had arrived.

“The same way you deal with everything,” Stevie answered simply. “You non-confront them.”

From outside, he could already catch Danny peering at them suspiciously from his seat.

“Thanks a lot,” Fernando retorted dryly. He took a deep breath and gave Stevie one last reluctant look.

“Go on!” Stevie urged, pushing Fernando to his classroom, slapping his ass for extra emphasis. Fernando probably threw him a dirty look, but Stevie wouldn’t know because he was too busy giving Danny a cheeky wink.

*

“And that,” Mr Ferguson drew a few more Xs on the wobbly square he labelled ‘Europe’ earlier, “was Hitler’s blitzkrieg war method. Any questions?”

Fernando let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding in. Ten more minutes and he could say he’s survived.

“Okay, seeing as you all have none, I want a ten-page summary paper on our lecture on Nazi Germany for our next meeting.”

The whole class groaned. And Fernando groaned the loudest of all. So near yet so frickin’ far.

“I want ten pages, lads. Ten pages. No cheating by making the font size big or by using ridiculously wide margins. I want only Times New Roman, 12 points, and one-inch margins on all sides.”

Fernando hurriedly jotted down the requirements on the back of his notebook, but the advancing presence over his shoulder did not go unnoticed.

“Alright, that’s all. Class dismissed!”

“Fernando,” Dan called out tentatively, placing a hand lightly on his arm. The striker froze. There was no escape. Pepe was already rushing toward Mr Ferguson asking for a deadline extension since he was working alone—that selfish bastard.

Fernando stood up abruptly, causing Dan’s hand to fall away. He heard him sigh and try again, “How do you want to work on the paper?”

“I can do the first five pages, you do the other half,” Fernando answered levelly, busying himself with stuffing his notebook and pencil case inside his messenger bag. “I’ll just email you my part, yeah?”

“Uh, okay,” Dan nodded but appealed hurriedly, “But don’t you think we should at least plan our paper first? ...Together? We can meet at the library tonight. It won’t take long, I promise.”

Fernando stopped rummaging through his things and stood up, flicking his long hair out of his face. “It’s a summary paper. What planning do we need?”

“This is 5% of our grade!”

And their research paper last month was 20% of their grade, but that didn’t stop them from making out all night in the library’s Anthropology section, did it? But Fernando bit back that retort, struggling to maintain an icy calm, even if the memory made him even angrier.

“I’ll email you my part and just edit it as you see fit. If you want anything else on it, just message me,” Fernando said coolly. He slung his bag on his shoulder and walked off.

“Fernando!” Dan called out helplessly, but it was too late. The Spaniard had already plugged in his iPod and was no doubt blasting it at full volume. He gritted his teeth and stalked after him, yanking at his arm to force Fernando to face him.

“What?” Fernando half-yelled in exasperation—a crack in his composure.

Dan calmly pulled off Fernando’s earphones. “Nando—” Fernando flinched at the nickname. “—I’m sorry about what I did. Really.”

And Fernando, just as calmly, took his earphones from Dan’s palm and simply nodded, “Okay.”

And Dan didn’t know what that was supposed to mean, but watching Fernando walk away from him again, there was a sinking in his heart that said it wasn’t good.

*

Fernando pushed his tray forward, excitedly making his way to the dessert section. He thoroughly inspected a packet of chocolate pudding, before dropping it on his tray. He made for the cashier, stopped, backtracked and grabbed another one.

“Hungry much?” Harry asked sarcastically from behind him.

“Shut up,” Fernando said, peeling off the cover and licking the excess chocolate on the foil. He reasoned out between slurps, “I’m depressed.”

Harry’s nose crinkled at the offensive desserts and the large Coke float Fernando ordered as extra. “I’m all for inner beauty, Fernando, but if you gain weight, I’m not going to want to fuck you,” Harry warned seriously. 

“Well, thank god for that,” Fernando retorted, bringing his tray along and scanning the cafeteria for an empty table. “Let’s get an empty table.”

They carefully made their way through the crowded lunchroom, dodging clumsy freshmen and balancing their food. Part of him missed the spacious courtyard space where the team always had first dibs on, but hanging out with the boys wasn’t very high on his agenda today.

Harry grinned sheepishly as they finally found an empty table for two, right next to the debate team. “I have to tell you I can only stay for five minutes.”

“What?” The Spaniard screeched.

“Xabi and I are meeting in the library over lunch to, er, study.”

“Oh, right,” Fernando said sarcastically. “Swap spit with him while I sit here alone like a fucking loser.”

“Sit outside with the team?” Harry suggested guiltily.

“Let me remind you that Danny fucked Finns in front of everyone of our teammates in Carra’s pub.”

“Sit with Olalla?” Harry offered.

“She wasn’t in class today, I think she’s sick,” Fernando huffed moodily. “Great. You tell me I’m fat and now you’re leaving me alone to eat in front of the whole student population which is basically social suicide. People will think I have herpes or something.”

“Nobody’s looking!” Harry protested, “Well, I mean, the debate team’s here, but they won’t judge you.” He watched them with a furrowed forehead as they yelled back and forth about the pros and cons of uniforms. “I hear they’re very open-minded people?”

“You’re a fucking wanker, Kewell!” Fernando shouted, throwing his empty straw wrapper at his roommate.

“I have to go,” Harry said, leaping to his feet and grabbing the apple off his tray. “Sorry, love you, will make it up to you!”

“Horny bastard,” Fernando muttered moodily to himself. If Dan walked in the cafeteria now—no, if Dan walked in _with Finns_ —he would positively die. He started diving into his chocolate pudding furiously.

“Dessert before lunch?” A voice whispered teasingly in his ear. Fernando jumped and whirled around.

“Fucking hell, Stevie, don’t scare me like that!” Fernando yelped, clutching his pudding close to his chest.

Stevie pulled the chair across from Fernando, “I just dropped Xabi off to the library. Silly little boy won’t stop studying, but I’m proud of him, you know?”

Fernando dodged his gaze and just nodded.

“You’re still not hanging out with us? The boys miss you. Yossi’s been asking about you—poor lad’s still in the dark. Sami’s running out of excuses to tell him.”

“It’s only been a couple of days,” Fernando rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t help smiling, “And there’s still training.”

Stevie shrugged and poked at his own lunch. “It’s not the same.”

“If I go there, it’ll be awkward and it’s either there will be too many questions or there won’t be any talking at all. Best let it die down.”

“When?” Stevie asked impatiently.

“Well, when someone else fucks up worse?” Fernando guessed.

“It’s Danny and Finns that should be avoiding us, not you,” Stevie said, squirting some ketchup onto his plate and making a smiley face. Fernando grinned and stole a fry off the captain’s plate and dipped it into the sauce, deliberately messing up one eye.

“And Danny and Finns aren’t talking,” Stevie supplied, “Finns looks guilty as hell though. I think he’s the one who started the whole thing, kissed Agger first and all.”

Fernando shrugged noncommittally, obsessively scraping off the traces of pudding in the cup and onto his spoon. He was licking off the last of the chocolate as Stevie added in frustration, “It’s like an episode of fucking Gossip Girl in here.”

That made Fernando giggle a little. “You watch Gossip Girl?”

“My mum does. Would you believe that? It’s like World War III with me and Pops trying to bleedin’ watch Match of the Day when she’s watching her soaps.”

Fernando laughed as peeled off the cover of his other packet of dessert. He scooped a spoonful of pudding and held it out for Stevie to try. The Scouser leaned in and licked the spoon clean, smacking his lips in satisfaction, “That’s good stuff.”

“Stevie, would you still love me if I were fat?”

Stevie’s jaw dropped. “You’re not fat!”

“You didn’t answer my question,” Fernando replied, hurt. He accused, “So if I did become fat you would shun me? Leave me friendless and alone so that even the debate team would judge me?”

Stevie shook his head and laughed, “Fernando, I’d love you no matter what your weight is.”

*

Xabi tapped his foot impatiently. They only had around half an hour left before break finished and Harry still wasn’t anywhere to be found. His stomach grumbled hungrily—he skipped lunch (and lunch with his friends) to be in the library right now and Harry was late.

Finally, the door swung open—Xabi’s been staring at it darkly, scrutinizing every figure that walked in and sighing when it wasn’t the Australian.

Harry walked towards his table in a hurry when suddenly a girl came up to him (Shirley? Sharon?) and threw her arms around his neck. Xabi watched with narrowed eyes as Harry laughed and hugged her back and they kissed. And no, it was not a friendly, Spanish, customary buss on the cheeks. It was a kiss that made Mrs Parks, the librarian, look up, tut and hiss at pair to stop.

Harry waved goodbye at the dark-haired girl and finally (FINALLY) approached a fuming Xabi’s table.

“Hola,” Harry greeted, plopping down on the seat beside the Spaniard.

Xabi ignored him and angrily flipped open his notebook.

“Xabi?”

Xabi threw his pen down and stared at Harry crossly. “Do you have anything to tell me?”

Harry looked stumped, then his eyes lit up. “I love what you’ve done with your hair!”

Xabi blinked. “What?”

“...It’s not the hair?” Harry asked.

“No!” Xabi almost shouted before he caught himself.

“Oh,” Harry frowned in disappointment. “When girls ask me that question, the hair’s usually the best answer.”

“And I suppose you learned this from your _friend_ over there?” Xabi crossed his arms over his chest and nodded at whatsherface’s direction.

“Oh, Sheree?” Harry broke into a grin, “She’s Australian too.”

“And she also likes kissing you,” Xabi deadpanned.

“Yeah,” Harry chuckled fondly, “She’s a sweet girl.”

“Harry!”

“What?”

“You’re impossible,” Xabi gritted his teeth and went back to his notes.

“Xabi,” Harry nudged his side to get his attention, “Don’t tell me you’re jealous.”

Xabi didn’t reply and just made deep, angry sidenotes on his textbook.

“Because you’re so hot when you’re jealous,” Harry giggled against Xabi’s ear before sneaking a kiss on his neck and pulling away.

“Harry!” Xabi scolded, but it was obvious he was a bit giddy. “People can see us,” he added with a hiss, looking around.

“Sheree also kissed me in front of everyone and I don’t think people really took note,” Harry goaded, pressing another kiss on the underside of Xabi’s jaw. Xabi tried not to tilt his head back in response.

“But this is different,” the Basque protested weakly but his eyes fluttered close as Harry’s hand opened his blazer and caressed his torso through the fabric of his shirt.

“Uh-huh,” Harry murmured, untucking Xabi’s button-down underneath the table, “You want to keep talking ‘til the lunch bell?”

Xabi cursed in his head and looked around one more time. Everyone looked busy studying anyway. He threw Harry a look of annoyance before standing up, “Come on, we should check out the Anthropology section.”

Harry grinned triumphantly and rubbed his hands together as he strode after Xabi. Easy, easy, easy.

*

“Danny, can I talk to you?” Finns asked, “In private?”

The team all exchanged glances—some curious, some accusatory, some encouraging.

“Please?” Finns added, as Dan just looked solemnly ahead, sipping at his orange juice. He had popped the question now because Dan had been avoiding him all week. But he surely wouldn’t turn Finns down in front of the whole team. Finns was still his best friend (?) after all, and Dan was noble like that.

“Fine,” Dan finally mumbled and got to his feet. Finns’ face broke into a grin as they both made their way to the parking lot which was always deserted.

“Cheap trick, Finns,” Dan said, sitting down on a bench and immediately lighting up, much to Finns’ relief. Dan was always slightly more civil when he’s had a cigarette or two.

“I didn’t know what else to do. You wouldn’t talk to me.”

“I wonder why,” Dan remarked coldly. Finns cringed. He didn’t expect him to be this angry.

“I’m sorry,” the Irishman said meekly.

“For what?” Dan asked, his eyes steely, his mouth in a firm line

“W-what—?”

“For getting me drunk? For getting me to sleep with you?” Dan suggested. “For making sure everyone saw it?”

Finns’ throat felt dry as he tried to answer but ended up stammering incoherently. “I didn’t plan it, Danny...”

“Oh, like you bloody didn’t!” Dan’s voice started to get louder, “You’ve been hinting at this. Didn’t you think I would notice?”

“You said you weren’t serious with Fernando! You said it was over,” Finns protested half-heartedly, feeling cornered.

“You said those things.”

Finns’ shoulder slumped and he didn’t reply. Dan sighed furiously and rolled his hands into fists, throwing his lit cigarette away in the bushes. Finns always got irritated when he did that, telling him that would one day start a fire and burn down the school. But right now all he wanted was to irritate Finns. Scream at him, grab him by the collar and then hit him.

“Fuck it, Finns, you know I’d put you above anyone else in any other case,” Dan said, hiding his face in his hands and rubbing his temples. “But I told you this was different. –You were the only one I told. I thought you’d have my back, not stick a knife into it.”

If Finns felt embarrassed then, he was beyond ashamed now. He reached out tentatively to place his hand on Dan’s knee, held his breath until he was sure Dan wouldn’t push it away.

“Dan, I’m sorry,” Finns murmured. He couldn’t bring himself to speak louder. “I don’t know how many times I have to say it, but I really am.”

“I just,” Dan huffed, running his hands through his hair, “I don’t understand how you could do that.”

Finns kicked a pebble aimlessly, watched it bounce atop the asphalt. He finally confessed, averting his gaze, “I thought you wanted me too.”

“Finns,” Dan sighed, but softly, less harshly now. He placed his hand over Finns’ on his leg, “You know I fucking love you. I didn’t look for anyone else until you told me it was over between us. And It’s not like it was easy looking for someone to replace you.”

A small smile tugged at the corner of Finns’ mouth. “I wasn’t that amazing.”

They both burst out laughing. Finns smiled happily, “Does this mean we’re okay now?”

Dan hesitated for a second—an eternity for the Irishman. Dan shrugged, “I guess I won’t be forgiven if I don’t forgive first, huh?”

Finns rubbed Dan’s back comfortingly, “Fernando’s still mad?”

Dan fidgeted with his tie thoughtfully, “I really don’t know. He’s civil, but nothing more than that.”

“It’s always the quiet ones you have to worry about.”

“And Stevie won’t fucking stop hanging around him!” Dan yelled, partially-relieved he had someone to rant to again.

“Oh, come on,” Finns waved him away, “You know Stevie just likes taking the new boys under his wing.”

“Under his wing my ass. Might I remind him that there are enough Spanish boys to go around? He has a certain Xabi Alonso to think about.”

“Might I remind you that it’s possible they’re just friends?” Finns teased.

“Right,” Dan scoffed. “I also told Fernando that we were just friends and look what happened.”

Finns shot Dan a scathing glare.

Dan grinned sheepishly, “Too early for that joke?”

Finns stood up and dusted himself off, “We’re late to class, Agger.”

“But Finns! It was the perfect comeback!” Dan tried to explain, skipping after him.

Finns shook his head in disbelief, chuckling lightly. “Sometimes I think you don’t need my help to fuck things up.”

*

Fernando tried not to stare as Dan and Finns entered the locker room after training side-by-side, conversing quietly between them. Obviously, whatever Stevie said about them not talking wasn’t true. He concentrated on peeling off his muddy kit but whenever he looked up, he couldn’t help but watch the pair, remember _that night_ , making his insides twisted into tight knots all over again.

He sighed and shook his head, sitting down on the bench to kick off his boots. As he was about to undo one of the knots, he saw Yossi staring at him sympathetically, giving him an encouraging smile. Fernando smiled back tightly but cursed inside. This was getting to be ultimately pathetic if even Yossi was feeling bad for him.

The Spaniard looked around to rant to Stevie, but the captain had gone off training early to serve detention. Fernando sighed again and threw his boots on the floor more resolutely now. To fuck with self-pity. He’s had enough of it in one day. (The two packets of chocolate pudding had sat heavily in his stomach the entire training and Rafa yelled at him for being slow.)

Holding his chin up and gathering the last shreds of his confidence, Fernando strode inside the shower room and searched the cubicles left and right. Finally, he spotted what he was looking for.

Dan shut off the shower as he crouched down to retrieve the bottle of shampoo from his toiletry bag. But all thoughts of the bath completely flew from his mind when his eyes set upon a strong pair of legs. He knew them from anywhere. Bruised and battered from many a tackle and that tell-tale tattoo of Roman numerals up the right shin.

The heavy terrycloth towel fell to the floor without so much as a sound, but Dan felt like it rang in his head, over the sounds of chatter in the locker room and the hiss of jets of water pattering down on the tiles.

The defender stared agape as Fernando walked into the cubicle right opposite his. He hasn’t seen, much less touched, that body in too long. And now, there it was.

He watched with wide eyes as Fernando turned on the tap, tested its temperature before stepping under the shower. He tilted his face up to meet the water and ran his fingers through the long, blond hair, working at the knots and massaging at the scalp.

Dan was mesmerized, following the path of the striker’s hands as they got the soap, worked up a lather then rubbed around his neck and nape, across tired shoulders, down the strong chest and the flat stomach. Dan tried to gulp, but his throat felt dry and he couldn’t swallow.

Fernando bent down, running that darned bar of soap over his thighs. Not. Missing. An. Inch. And Dan’s breath grew shallower with every entrancing move the Spaniard made.

“Oy!” A voice called out, and before Dan could look up, Sami had already snapped his towel fiercely at the young defender.

“Yow!” Dan yelped loudly as the towel connected sharply against his back. The chatter suddenly stopped and heads popped out of the stalls to check what was going in. Dan’s cheeks were positively burning.

“Didn’t your mother tell you it was rude to stare?” Sami tilted his head to get a good look at Danny sprawled on the shower room floor.

“Uh, I-I wasn’t...” Dan stammered, watching in horror as Fernando briefly stopped soaping his legs and watched the altercation in front of his cubicle.

“I wasn’t staring,” Dan managed to finish, explaining more to Fernando than Sami.

“Right,” Sami said, giving the Dane one last strong cautionary glare before moving away.

“I wasn’t staring,” Dan tried again, smiling at the striker sheepishly.

Fernando straightened up to wash himself off, still feeling Dan’s eyes unmistakably trained on his back. He smirked to himself. Go on, Daniel. Lap it all up.

*

Stevie dragged his feet as he sullenly pushed open the door to the detention room. He almost collided with Mr Ayesteran, the detention monitor, on his way out.

“Go on in, Mr Gerrard. I’ll just go get myself some coffee,” he said. “Mr Kewell and Mr Alonso are already inside.”

Stevie blinked. “Excuse me?”

But Mr Ayesteran had already walked down to the vending machine around the corner.

Stevie couldn’t have rushed inside fast enough. The detention room was still empty except for the three of them. And he couldn’t tell who was the most shocked of all.

“What the hell did you do to get detention?” Stevie asked incredulously, but there was an annoying buzzing in his head that he couldn’t place.

Harry and Xabi exchanged glances, and the static in Stevie’s brain grew louder.

“I forgot to pass my paper,” Harry was the first to answer, forcing a laugh and a comical slap to his forehead.

“Great,” Stevie said, “But I was asking Xabi.”

Xabi’s jaw dropped, but no sound came out. And his eyes were darting, as if he was panicking searching for an answer.

Stevie sighed impatiently and went to the front of the room to where the detention slips were filed. He was really just doing it out of curiosity, really, but when Xabi abruptly stood up, his thighs banging against his desk in his hurry, he knew there wasn’t something right going on.

“Wait, Stevie, I can explain –”

And Stevie walked more purposefully now up the platform. He didn’t know what to expect but his legs felt like lead. He snatched the papers on the desk and quickly rifled through them.

_Steven Gerrard, cutting class, signed by Mr Moyes, Advanced Algebra._

He quickly discarded that and continued sorting through the stack, but there was only one more detention slip dated for today.

_Harry Kewell and Xabi Alonso, public indecency in the library, signed by Mrs Parks, Head Librarian._

Stevie felt his blood run cold and the noise in his head was deafening now. He threw the papers on the desk and they fanned out messily.

“Nice,” Stevie mustered a dry laugh.

Harry sat there, aghast. He didn’t think it would happen like this.

“Stevie, it’s not what you think—” Xabi cried out.

And you had to give it to the Scouser because he stood there for a second, waiting for Xabi to tell him what he really should think. But Xabi, Xabi stood there, face crumpling as he tried to come up with something to say.

“We’re over.” Stevie said coldly, grabbing his bag and striding out of the room.

“Stevie!” Xabi called out, running after him, “Nothing happened, I swear!” And his voice sounded hollow to his ears as it echoed off the empty hallway. The loud bang of the school door was the only sound Stevie made. Xabi buried his face in his hands and he felt angry pinpricks of tears behind his eyelids.

“Mr Alonso, what are you doing outside?” A gentle voice asked kindly, almost shyly.

Xabi turned around to see Mr Ayesteran approaching him with a steaming hot cup of coffee in one hand.

“Stevie had to leave,” Xabi answered almost robotically, “H-he had a family emergency and he wanted me to ask you if he could just serve his detention tomorrow?”

Mr Ayesteran had heard a lot of crazy stories in his time as detention monitor, but the Basque looked beyond distraught, he really didn’t have it in his heart to question his statement.

“No problem, hijo,” Mr Ayesteran said, ushering a still shell-shocked Xabi with him. “Now come on, back inside the room.”

*

Fernando was in high spirits as he left the gym after training, dropping by his locker to pick up his books before he headed back to the dormitory. He twirled the combination on his locker and a small packet fell as the door swung open.

He bent down to retrieve the small plastic bag and undid the knot. A musty-looking candy cane sat inside, and Fernando had to smile as he took it out, unfolding the note attached to it.

_Because losing season after losing season, Atleti’s still your team. Something tells me you can bounce back from your heartbreak._

_Stevie_

_P.S. Do you know how hard it is to look for a candy cane in the middle of October? I had to go down to that seedy strip mall along Crown St. I might even get detention for this, you know._

Fernando snickered to himself as he folded the note again and tucked it safely inside his pocket. Taking out his books and piling it on his arms, he headed outside, a bright smile on his face. It had been a few days since he felt this genuinely happy. He even hummed a song to himself as he cut across the school lawn toward the students’ quarters, until he saw a familiar figure sitting on one of the benches.

He squinted his eyes to get a better look and once confirming it, Fernando approached him in confusion.

“I thought you were in detention.”

Stevie looked up and Fernando gasped. His eyes were red and it was obvious he had probably just cried. And Fernando’s never seen him cry before. Even when Masch had accidentally crashed against him with a high, two-footed tackle in training, burying studs against his shin with a sickening thud. Stevie had just winced and walked it off, shooing away the Argentinian’s apologies and the medic’s nagging, it made Carra shine with pride.

“Xabi and Harry—” was the only thing Stevie could mumble before his voice cracked. He sighed and pursed his lips, staring ahead of him moodily again. “I mean, why would he—” Stevie tried to talk but he stalled and just seemed to abandon his phrases, “I didn’t think—”

Fernando tried to swallow the huge lump. “I... I knew.”

Stevie glanced at him in confusion.

The Spaniard explained again, averting his gaze, “I knew about it. I saw them before, when Xabi first went to Harry for his math tutorials—” Stevie snorted sardonically. “—But I couldn’t tell you. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry,” Stevie sighed, leaning his head back on the bench. “I’m too tired to even get mad at anyone else now.”

“I should probably go and leave you to yourself.”

“Yeah, you should go—I mean, not that I don’t want you here, but if you have to go, you don’t have to be here, so just... go. Unless you can stay,” The Scouser blubbered in response. Fernando stared at him half-baffled, half-stunned. Stevie took a deep breath and tried again, “I just meant... you can stay. If you want.”

“Oh.” Fernando laughed and nodded, tentatively sitting down on the space next to the captain. He fumbled for something in his bag and Stevie looked on curiously—slightly relieved for the distraction.

“Here,” Fernando said softly, taking out his candy cane and peeling off the sticky wrapper.

“What kind of stupid twat gives you candy canes when it’s not Christmas?”

The striker laughed and broke the sweet with a clean snap. “The same stupid twat that told me there’s no heartbreak you can’t bounce back from,” he handed Stevie one half of the candy cane, “So he probably can’t be all that bad, right?”


	10. I'm just hopelessly hopeful, you're just hopeless enough

8:00 AM, Gerrard house

“Stevie?”

The Scouser’s eyes fluttered open briefly, before he groaned tiredly in response, “What time is it?”

“8 AM.”

Stevie’s eyes flew open this time. “Oh, shit, I’m late!” He sat up, pausing briefly to wonder why he was at his desk.

“You fell asleep studying, son,” his mother answered kindly, closing his books and notebooks for him and arranging them into a neat pile. “And it’s Saturday today.”

“Oh.” Stevie paused, half-sprint to his bathroom. He rubbed the crick in his neck, “I was so preoccupied with revising for Chemistry.”

“All you’ve been doing is study lately,” his mother sat on his bed and regarded him worriedly. “You haven’t even gone out with your friends this entire week. Usually I would welcome that change, but you look so tired, darling.”

Stevie mustered a small smile, “I’m fine, Mum. It’s just hell week next week, so I have to get some reviewing done.”

“Are you having a hard time in class? Are your grades slipping?” His mother continued, not entirely convinced. “Maybe you should get Xabi to help you. You always say he’s very smart.”

Stevie frowned, grumbling. “Xabi can’t come over.” His mother’s eyebrows raised questioningly, so Stevie hastily fibbed, “He’s busy this weekend with a family reunion.”

“Oh, okay,” his mother nodded slowly. She added with a fond chuckle, “I just haven’t seen him in a while. He always used to come over.”

Stevie just grunted noncommittally in response, busying himself with looking for a change of fresh clothes in his closet. His mother followed him with a concerned gaze. Her son was always cranky in the morning, but never short-tempered. She shrugged, maybe it was the stress.

“Now, come on, sweetie,” Stevie’s mother stood up from her perch and dusted invisible lint from the bedsheets, “Your dad made pancakes for breakfast. You’ll need some energy if you want to study the entire day again.”

9:00 AM, Alonso flat

“Rise and shine!” Mikel crowed cheerfully, bounding into Xabi’s room. “Jesus Christ, Xabi, your room is a mess!”

An annoyed grunt came from somewhere underneath the duvet.

“You have to get up, you have to help me do the groceries, Xabier,” Mikel chattered on, proceeding to pick up some of Xabi’s dirty clothes from the floor and tossing them into the laundry.

“Later, Mikel,” Xabi groaned, covering his face with his pillow to drown out his older brother’s voice.

“Now, Xabi,” the older Basque countered, drawing up the blinds and letting the sunlight come streaming in the room. Xabi snarled and threw a pillow at Mikel who dodged it easily.

“Anyway, Papa called the other day and he wasn’t happy when I told him you were in detention.”

“Okay.”

“I told him it was nothing since you said it was only because you left your paper at home by accident.”

“Yeah, I did.”

“And he got even angrier and told me off about being an irresponsible brother, not making sure you did all your work and passed it on time.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Oh, and Harry called about half a dozen times last night too, but you went to bed really early.”

“Okay.”

“Anyway, you won’t believe what happened at work the other day.”

“Stevie and I broke up.”

“No, my boss found out that—WHAT?”

Xabi had to smile at how passionately he was reacting. Xabi had only been numb and emotionless since that afternoon. He replied with a sigh, “Yeah.”

“B-but why??” Mikel demanded.

Xabi shrugged even if Mikel wouldn’t be able to see it under the covers.

“Er,” Mikel spoke tentatively. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Xabi shook his head. “I just want to go back to sleep, Mikel.”

Mikel nodded and bit his lip. He picked up the pillow Xabi took and almost shyly gave it back to his younger brother. Then, he went and closed the blinds again to shut out the sunlight, before giving Xabi a quick pat and leaving the room quietly.

10:00 AM, Agger house

Daniel stared at his mobile sullenly, reading the content of his Sent Items folder.

_Hey, do you want to study together for our History midterms? I’m doing an all-nighter in the library tonight.  
Sent: Friday, 8:37 PM_

_Hi, Nando, you didn’t reply. You must be busy. But if you want to drop by, I’m just here.  
Sent: Friday, 9:45 PM_

_You won’t believe this, but they’re serving free coffee in the library because it’s midterms season! Haha.  
Sent: Friday, 10:29 PM_

_Please talk to me?  
Sent: Friday, 11:11 PM_

_Um, I guess you’re not coming. I’ll just see you in class on Monday, yeah? Good night.  
Sent: Saturday, 1:07 AM_

Dan groaned. This was pathetic. Not to mention spamming. But he couldn’t focus on his notes at all last night because he kept spacing out, staring at Fernando’s number so often, he knew it by heart.

Well, he kept telling himself each message would be the last—he didn’t want to seem desperate.

Dan dropped his phone to his side so he would stop fiddling with it. Out of sight, out of mind, right? So the Dane shut his eyes and tried to get some more sleep, burrowing deep into his blanket.

But a tiny voice kept nagging at the back of his head. Maybe Fernando just didn’t notice his phone beeping last night. Maybe he had no signal or he ran out of battery last night. Or his inbox was full so all of Dan’s messages couldn’t get in. Or the conspiracy theory of mercury retrograde was true and all of technology was malfunctioning last night because of some cosmic imbalance or something. Anything.

Maybe he should give him a call, just to make sure. There was nothing bad about that, right?

With a renewed sense of purpose, Dan retrieved his mobile from the tangles of his sheets and quickly scrolled down to Fernando’s name.

Taking a deep breath and feeling lucky this time, he pressed the “Call” button. After a second of silence, it started ringing. Dan pumped his fist in the air in triumph.

Three rings. Four rings.

Maybe he was still asleep?

Six rings, seven rings.

Or maybe he was still ignoring him.

Ten rings and then—

“Hey, this is Fernando. Leave a message!”

Well, shit. Dan didn’t prepare for this.

“Uh, hi, Fernando. It’s Dan.” Dan sat up and frantically gestured in the air as if it would help him come up with something. “I... You weren’t replying last night, so— Uh, call me back, if you can?” Dan cringed as he added, “Please?”

“And, um,” Dan bit his lip as he played with a stray thread on his shirt. He added, “I miss you. That’s all.”

He sighed in defeat and ended the call, slapping his forehead and cursing himself. He lay back down and went back to what he was doing from the start: staring at his mobile, waiting for it to beep.

“Call back if you miss me too,” Dan whispered like a mantra, gripping his phone’s edges hard. “Call back if you miss me too. Come on, ring, dammit!”

Then his mobile rang. Dan was so surprised he almost dropped it.

“Yeah?” He asked breathlessly, answering the call so quickly, he didn’t even bother checking who it was.

“Hey, Danny. I’ve been calling your house an hour ago, your mom told me you were still in bed!” Finns chuckled down the other end of the line. “You wanna meet up in the park and kick a ball around?”

Dan groaned, “Good morning, Finns.”

“You’re still asleep?”

“No,” Dan answered crossly, “Do sleeping people sit up and hold conversations?”

“Actually, yes, there’s a sleeping disorder called narcolepsy where you don’t even go through the four stages of sleeping and suddenly—”

“Fuck off.”

“—Your body just slips into REM stage but your brain’s still active. They’re just 10 to 15 minute-attacks, but they’re really scary. We talked about it in Biology the other day.”

“...Right,” Dan pulled his blanket over his head. “Goodbye, Finns.”

“You don’t want to play football?”

“Goodbye, Finns.”

11:00 AM, Dormitory room A311

“Aren’t you getting up?”

“What time is it?”

“Almost noon.”

“Huh.”

“My head hurts from sleeping too much.”

“You know how to get rid of it?”

“How?”

“Go back to sleep.”

“...Good idea.”

*

“Good morning, class,” Mr Wenger glided into the classroom that Monday morning. Stevie rubbed his eyes of sleep and tried not to look like a devastated, jilted ex-boyfriend. At least not during French because Xabi was in this class and Stevie still had his pride.

“I’m sorry to say this, but we’re not having French today,” Mr Wenger announced, visibly annoyed as he dug up a folder from his leather briefcase. “The school administration wanted to devote all first periods today to a special class session.”

The students sat up and looked at their French professor curiously.

“So, today, we’re discussing sex education.”

“WHAT?!” Carra was the first to yell out loud.

“I assure you, Mr Carragher, this isn’t a particularly pleasant experience for me either,” Mr Wenger rolled his eyes as he opened a Flash presentation. An image of the reproductive system immediately splashed out on the board. The boys sat up and their eyes twinkled naughtily. The girls crossed their legs and looked down, trying not to blush. Stevie cringed. This was just awkwardness of epic proportions.

“It’s all the evil plan of the school board, I tell you. They’ll gross us out by having Wenger teach us about sex so we become celibate,” Penns nudged him and snickered. “After this, we’re all going to be asexual. Like mushrooms.”

“Mushrooms aren’t asexual,” Xabi interrupted on the other side of Penns, “They reproduce by spores, okay.”

Stevie tried to funnel all his energy in scribbling angrily in his notebook so he wouldn’t be tempted to look up at Xabi.

Mr Wenger sighed loudly, “Let’s all just get this over with so we can get back to our normal French lessons, oui?” He read the handouts in his hands and recited dully. “The first thing we need is perfect information. Ask your students how many of them are sexually active. Remind them to be honest and that they need not feel embarrassed.” The Frenchman looked up and asked dryly. “You heard the instructions. Who’s sexually active in this class? Raise your hands.”

“Oh, me!” Penns was the first to yell out enthusiastically, raising his hand so eagerly, he almost stood up from his seat. Mr Wenger didn’t hide rolling his eyeballs.

The students all snickered, sneaking glances at each other and sharing knowing grins, before following suit. A good portion of them raised their hands. Stevie attempted to remain emotionless as he looked around the room, keeping his hand up as Mr Wenger made a headcount. His eyes caught Xabi’s and they both quickly looked away.

“Alright,” Mr Wenger said, motioning for all of them to put down their hands. He made a little note on the file and flipped on to the next chart. “For the people who answered yes, when was your last sexual encounter?”

The whole class erupted into a mix of cheers and groans.

“Last night, yeah?” Penns spoke up again, brightly.

“Alright, Mr Pennant, we get the point,” Mr Wenger said dryly, “You have astounding libido.”

“Hey, I want astounding libido too!” Carra protested hotly.

Xabi slapped his forehead, “Carra, do you even know what that means?” Carra threw him a dirty look—Xabi frowned, realizing Stevie must have told him of their break-up. But Carra only snapped, “Well, if Penns has it, I want it too.”

“6 months ago?” Mr Wenger called out. A few sheepishly raised their hands.

“3 months ago?”

“This month?”

“Two weeks ago?” A couple raised their hands, including Stevie. Xabi wanted to follow suit but—

Mr Wenger counted the hands again, reminding, “Be honest, everyone! This is important.”

Xabi figured maybe he’s lied too much already. The least he could do was to finally be honest with Stevie now, right?

“And last week?” Xabi took a deep breath and raised his hand, training his eyes on the floor, cheeks burning brightly. He heard a few deep mutters behind him—unmistakably Carra and Penns. Well, if the team didn’t know about the break-up before, they certainly knew now.

“Mr Alonso, huh?” Mr Wenger said with a sly little grin as he nodded at Xabi and counted him and a few others in his tally. Xabi sank lower in his seat. Didn’t he deserve to get some kind of good karma for his admirable act of honesty?  
“Next question, again for those who are sexually active: Do you have a singular partner or do you engage multiple partners?”

Okay, Xabi decided. There is no God.

“Those with singular partners, please?” Mr Wenger called out to the class, grinning. He was beginning to enjoy this. “Who remains loyal, monogamous and—”

“Foolish?” Stevie quipped loudly. The whole class laughed. Xabi forcedly so.

“I was going for naive, but that’s also appropriate,” Mr Wenger replied to the Scouser good-naturedly. That may have been the first time Stevie and Mr Wenger were on good terms with each other.

A couple of students raised their hands, those with known steady girlfriends or boyfriends. Stevie was one of them, his lips set in a firm line.

“And those with multiple partners?”

Xabi’s hand crept up and he wondered why it was still humiliating the second time around.

“Well, Mr Alonso, you get around, huh?” Mr Wenger joked. The class laughed again and to Xabi’s ears, it seemed like Carra, Penns and Stevie laughed the loudest.

*

Fernando cautiously stepped into his Economics classroom, but it was empty. Scratching his head, he checked his watch. Didn’t the bell just ring a couple of minutes ago? Everyone should be here already.

“Fernando?”

The Spaniard turned around and grinned in relief. “Olalla, hi! I was wondering where my Econ classmates were.”

“There’s no Econ today,” Olalla said, laughing kindly. “Every other Thursday, afternoon classes are cancelled for electives, remember?”

“Oh,” Fernando felt his heart drop. He frowned, “Right, I forgot.”

“What’s wrong?” Olalla asked, cocking her head to the side and studying her friend intently.

Fernando shook his head, “Nothing, nothing. I just forgot that I—”

“Hey, Fernando,” a tentative voice called out, “You heading to our Psych class?”

Fernando cringed as he slowly turned to Daniel. “Uh. Well.”

“Hi, I’m Olalla,” Olalla greeted brightly to fill in the strangely intense silence. She extended her hand to the Dane. “I’m Fernando’s friend.”

Daniel grinned back at her, “Hi, Olalla. I’m Daniel, his...” Fernando’s eyes narrowed, “Teammate.”

“Cool,” Olalla nodded. “You guys are taking Psychology with the rest of the squad then?”

Fernando and Dan exchanged uneasy glances.

“...Um, no,” Dan mumbled, his cheeks starting to feel warm, “Actually, it’s just me and Fernando.”

“Really? How come?”

Because we were stupid and idealistic and nauseatingly romantic when we chose our electives and we wanted to be alone so we chose a section apart from everyone else—but Fernando shut his mouth and kept the sarcastic comment in, focusing instead on scuffing his shoe against the linoleum floor.

“Well, at least you both have each other, right?” Olalla offered, still holding up the one-sided conversation.

Fernando coughed, “We really should be going. We don’t want to be late.”

“Oh, no problem,” Olalla shrugged, “Bye, Nando. Nice meeting you, Daniel!”

Dan smiled back at her briefly then tried to catch up with the striker who had hastily stridden away. “Fernando, wait up!”

“Fernando, please,” Dan tried again, gripping his shoulder and falling into stride with him.

“Leave me alone,” Fernando replied coldly, shrugging his hand off.

But Dan reached out again and grabbed him by the forearm, tightly now so he couldn’t squirm out of his grasp. “No,” Dan said, dragging him to the corner of the hallway forcibly.

“Stop calling me. Stop texting me. Stop leaving me messages on my voicemail, on my inbox or on my messenger. Stop stuffing notes in my locker. Just,” Fernando shoved Dan off him with all his strength, but he finished weakly, softly exhaling: “Just stop it.”

Fernando bit his lip and he almost seemed like he regretted having spoken so much. He sighed and leaned his head against the wall and squeezed his eyes shut.

“Nando, I meant everything I said in those messages.” Dan breathed, reaching out to caress the freckled cheek with the back of his hand. His knuckles tingled at the contact.

The Spaniard’s expression did not soften. “I wouldn’t know,” he dismissed immediately, “I erased them all.”

“Well, I told you I was sorry,” Dan said, a flicker of hurt in his eyes. Fernando winced slightly at the apology.

“...And that I missed you,” Dan continued softly.

Fernando looked away, focusing on the ugly military green shade of the paint on the wall. Those words sounded so different face-to-face than over a cackly, robotic message replayed over and over again into the night. More bone-chilling. More convincing.

But Fernando really didn’t want to believe these silly little things anymore. He turned around and deadpanned, “We’re late for class.”

The Spaniard broke away from Dan’s cage and entered their classroom, flashed an apologetic smile at their professor for being late.

“Well, Mr Torres and Mr Agger, right?” Ms Nichols asked, checking her class list. The two nodded before hurriedly filing into the last empty seats.

“Well, now that we are complete,” Ms Nichols spoke up brightly and eagerly, “We can now go into the lecture for today. It’s a very special lecture because I think all students your age will be able to relate to it. Can anyone guess our topic for today?”

“College?” The student in front suggested.

“Friendship?”

“Sex?”

“Fashion?” One of the girls asked hopefully.

“Football?” Dan tossed in for the heck of it.

“Actually,” Ms Nichols said, standing up from her desk and walking to the platform, “I was thinking more of love.”

“Love?” Fernando spat out in disgust.

“Yes!” The teacher said, eyes wide and expectant. The other students exchanged glances and tittered curiously. Dan had to hide a snicker and Fernando glared at him before staring at Ms Nichols blankly.

“And the first thing we think of when we discuss love is the basic question: How do we find it?” Ms Nichols began, and the class quieted down, hanging on to her every word because really, classes should be as interesting as this. “Most people will think it’s destiny or luck or fate, but really, there’s a system of calculation behind it.”

Fernando rolled his eyes and wanted to gag but grudgingly listened.

“Let’s have a quick game to show you what I mean,” Ms Nichols said, bringing out a stack of coloured index cards. “In every index card is a list of three characteristics. I’m going to tape them to your forehead so you don’t know what type of person you are.”

Ms Nichols started putting on rolls of tape behind every index card and sticking them against every student’s forehead. “The game’s pretty simple. I want you all to go around and look at your classmates and the type of people they are based on the index cards and the index cards alone.”

Dan tried to peek, but he couldn’t see what was written on the paper on his forehead. A couple of other people were already trying to look around and read each other’s profiles.

“If you see a person you like, just go up to them and say, ‘I love you. Do you love me?’” Ms Nichols tried to hide the smile playing on her lips. “Obviously, you can accept or turn down a person. When you finally form a pair, I want you to sit down together, understood?”

Fernando touched the card on his forehead gingerly, his palms feeling sweaty. This sounded like such a stupid game, but there was a tingling feeling of nervousness in his fingers nevertheless.

“Ready, get set, go!”

Daniel stood up from his seat and immediately approached the nearest person to his right. It was a girl from her PE class last year. She was kind of cute and the white index card on her forehead read, “Bright, confident, kind.”

“I love you, do you love me?” Dan asked, smiling.

The girl blushed and almost smiled back, but her eyes drifted an inch above Dan’s eyes, and her eyes suddenly widened with surprise. “Uh, no, sorry. No thanks,” she said sheepishly, hurriedly moving away.

Confused, Dan shrugged and moved on to the next person, a boy this time, “Intelligent, lazy, shy.”

Okay, not as great as the first person, but it wasn’t so bad. “What do you say, mate?” Dan asked nonchalantly, trying to ignore the awkwardness of the situation. But the lad looked at him and snorted, “Sorry, man.”

Dammit. What the hell was on his forehead? All around him, people were already squealing with delight, shuffling around looking for seats until the crowd started to thin out.

“Eight—no, six more people left,” Ms Nichols facilitated, chuckling. “Oh, now, four... And we’re down to two!”

Dan groaned. This was humiliating. He turned around and looked at the one other person with the same darn luck as him.

And there was Fernando standing in the front of the room, looking slightly embarrassed at first, laughing sheepishly, until his eyes caught Dan’s and then he just became positively distraught.

“If you look at your profiles, all the people with white index cards have three positive traits. The orange ones have a mix of the good and the unsavoury. And the blue cards are the unfortunate mingers. And just the same in real life, there are categories, levels, just like these. Not as simple, but you get the idea.”

Dan glanced at Fernando’s forehead and true enough, the paper was blue. He smiled at him hopefully, but Fernando kept his eyes trained on the blackboard.

“In the game, everybody naturally gravitated towards the white cards—the ones with the positive traits. But the ones with the white cards only ended up answering proposals from people just as desirable as them. And so people began to move on to lower and lower categories until they found their pair, finally.”

Dan wove his way through the chairs and tables to approach Fernando, still standing up, lingering at the front of the room. The Spaniard visibly tensed.

“And in the end, you’ll see that people end up dating people either from their level or at most, one level below or above them. There aren’t huge leaps because people do calculate their gains and losses.”

“Hey,” Dan whispered, taking his place next to the Spaniard.

“Hey,” Fernando replied softly.

“Which leaves us to these two,” Ms Nichols said, turning towards the two boys to her side. The class laughed as she prodded, “Well, go on now, lads. You have no choice.”

“Do I really have to?” Fernando whimpered. “I don’t want to date a,” his eyes flicked over the index card stuck on Dan’s forehead, “An arrogant, polygamous alcoholic.”

“Fair enough,” Ms Nichols laughed and gently plucked off the index card off the Spaniard, “But Mr Torres, according to your profile, you’re an unforgiving, insecure nymphomaniac. Maybe you’re not in a position to be very picky?”

Fernando pouted and crossed his arms over his chest.

“Come on, Torres,” Dan sat down and patted the last empty chair next to him, “I love you. Do you love me?”

And goddammit, the others were chiding and hooting and that cocky smirk had always been Fernando’s undoing, he couldn’t believe he was letting himself fall for this again—even if it was just for Psychology class.

“Fine.” Fernando grumbled, yanking the chair so that it scraped noisily against the floor and dropping down next to Dan. “But this is just pretend, so don’t you fucking get any ideas.”

“Sure, sure,” Dan said, scooting his chair closer to Fernando’s so he could lean in to whisper teasingly, “Whatever you say, boyfriend.”

*

“Hola, Niño.”

“Sami,” Fernando looked up and grinned brightly. “Your Spanish is getting better.”

“I can’t help it when half the squad speaks the language,” Sami laughed, flopping down on the pitch next to the boy. “You’re early to training.”

“Yeah, I had study period before this and we got let out early.”

“Well, good on you to drop by early. I haven’t seen you in so long!” Sami said, reaching out to ruffle Fernando’s hair fondly. “We’ve missed you.”

“Sorry,” Fernando replied, averting his gaze and picking at the blades of grass at his fingers, “There’s just been some... stuff.”

“Daniel?” Sami asked without batting an eyelash.

Fernando’s cheeks burned a bright red. He didn’t mind that people knew about them, but Sami—he was different. He was old and wise and almost like God. You didn’t confess to him the petty, sordid details of your life.

“It’s nothing. It’s over,” Fernando answered, brushing the question away with feigned nonchalance.

“Really? That’s too bad.” Sami asked, lying back down on the grass, “I had high hopes for the both of you.”

“W-what?” Fernando asked, giggling nervously.

“I liked you two together.”

“Oh.” Fernando said. He didn’t think there was much more he could say after that.

“You know, Stevie and Xabi, we never thought they would get together, Carra, Riise and I. They always seemed more different than similar. The kind of different that didn’t seemingly click. We didn’t know they were together until they were together.”

Fernando was stunned. He looked down at Sami lying down on the ground, staring at the sky with this nostalgic little smile on his thin lips. The laugh lines around his lips, the frown marks on his forehead were as faint as a prayer under the bright afternoon sun.

“...But you and Daniel, from your first argument, I knew.”

Fernando wanted to snort, tell Sami he was wrong, that his age had gotten to him. But you didn’t tell Sami those things. So the striker just shut up and tried to ignore the lump forming at his throat.

“He hated you so much in the first days, you know? Said you were a cocky, self-centred pretty boy,” Sami chuckled to himself, remembering how Dan marched up to him angrily, ranting endlessly as the other members of the team fawned over the new striker. “I told him if he hated you that much, maybe he was thinking about you more than he should. Little git shut up right after.”

Fernando laughed and shook his head.

“Not that I’m standing up for Daniel or anything,” Sami clarified, winking at Fernando. 

Fernando sighed and laid down on the grass next to the Finn. He admitted, “I know I can’t be mad at him. It’s not like we were really together. He could sleep with whoever he wanted.”

“Technically speaking.” Sami pointed out.

“But?” Fernando asked, his forehead wrinkling in confusion.

“There’s this girl back in Finland. I know I love her.” Sami abruptly launched into another anecdote, and Fernando laughed as he listened in. “She tells me we’re too young to wait for each other. We’re apart eight months out of a year. But I haven’t seen any other woman since I met her.”

Fernando smiled as his heart warmed. He could say it for himself now: Sami was a legend without a doubt.

“If you were serious about someone, no label, no technicality can ever be an excuse for you to even think about being with someone else.”

“So. Dan’s not serious enough about me?” Fernando asked and the words weighed heavy on his tongue. He dreaded hearing Sami’s almost inevitable confirmation.

“Oh, I think he’s serious about you,” Sami answered without even thinking twice. And he answered honestly, like he wasn’t just saying it to make Fernando feel better. “But you know Dan is young. And stupid. He fucks up a lot of things.”

“But what if he fucks up again?”

“I think he’s learned his lesson.” Sami explained, “I trust the boy. I wouldn’t have let him take my place in the team if I didn’t.”

Fernando heaved a huge sigh, his bangs fluttering over his eyes at the sudden gust of wind. “So, what do you think I should do?”

Sami shrugged, absentmindedly tracing the lines of his football cleats.

“What? You can’t make me rethink things I’ve tried so hard to ignore and then just leave me hanging!” Fernando yelped imploringly.

“You know what to do.” Sami just answered calmly.

“No, I don’t.”

“And I do?”

“Yes! You’re... you’re Sami.”

“Oh, Niño,” The Finn barked out laughing. “I’m just an aging old man. Don’t listen to me.”

Fernando shot him a lopsided grin, but his tone was serious when he said, “I’ll think about it, I promise.”

“Maybe you should think about it quickly,” Sami said absently. Fernando followed the defender’s gaze and spotted Dan heading out of the tunnel and approaching them. The Spaniard felt his heart drop to his feet and his blood run cold.

“Damn,” he whispered underneath his breath, bracing himself as Dan walked to them.

“Hey, Fernando,” Dan asked unsurely. “Can I talk to you?” He glanced briefly at Sami, acting like he wasn’t eavesdropping. Dan added, “In private?”

Fernando sneaked Sami a glance. The Finn, in return, widened his eyes and urged him to go on. Throwing all caution to the wind, Fernando nodded and finally answered, “Okay.”

Sami watched Dan help Fernando up to his feet. The Spaniard reluctantly took the outstretched hand but avoided Dan’s searching eyes, dusting his trousers off as if it were the most pressing thing he had to accomplish.

“What was that about?” Riise asked a few minutes later, joining the Finn on the pitch, passing Dan and Fernando heading back inside the locker rooms, talking quietly – secretly – between themselves.

Sami bit the inside of his cheek to stop a smile from revealing itself. He just shrugged and shook his head with wide, innocent eyes, “The kids these days.”

*

“So, how are you doing?” Dan asked, shutting the door behind him. Fernando doesn’t understand why they’re in the kit room, but it doesn’t matter because he kind of relished the feeling of being alone with the Dane again. Away from the controversy.

“What do you want?” Fernando asked coldly, folding his arms over his chest.

“I just want—” Dan took a deep breath and just forced himself to say it, “You.”

Fernando deadpanned. “You had me.”

Dan felt a pang of guilt strike him again. It never went away. “Fernando...”

“No!” Fernando burst out, pacing the room back and forth. “You had me. For months. When you were being an ass, when you were playing your fucking mind games, when you couldn’t work up the nerve to just fucking kiss me.” He jabbed Daniel’s chest with every accusation, before pushing him away with a sigh of resignation. “You had me in the palm of your fucking hand until I was even forcing you to sleep with me.”

“The only reason why I didn’t want to sleep with you was because I didn’t want you to think that was all I wanted from you,” Dan tried to explain as calmly as he could, but Fernando swept it aside.

“I slept with you because it was the only way I could keep you. Apparently it wasn’t enough because you were fucking Finns _one day after_ ,” Fernando said with a bitter laugh.

“I was drunk!” Dan protested in exasperation. He closed the distance between them and grabbed Fernando by the arms, forcing the Spaniard to look him dead in the eye.

“You were drunk, not brain-dead!” Fernando retorted, trying to squirm out of the defender’s grasp, but Dan only tightened his hold on him.

“Tell me you didn’t want it when it happened,” Fernando said, his tone gravelly but his eyes were pleading. “Tell me Finns forced you into it, Danny.”

 _Say yes_ , Fernando begged in his mind.

But Dan looked down, as if ashamed, and let go of Fernando. And Fernando thought it hurt before and that he was over the pain, but it started flaring up in his gut again. He almost didn’t hear Danny when he spoke up quietly.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know how many times I have to say it or what else I have to apologize for.”

“I don’t want to hear this anymore,” Fernando whispered, striding to the door, but Dan was quick to block his way.

“I’m sorry I fucked things up between us. But I’m even sorrier I made you feel like shit. I don’t show it often, but I – I do give a damn about you.”

Fernando ran his arm over his eyes, not wanting to Dan to see him shedding hot, angry tears over this.

*

Meanwhile, outside, Xabi ran over to Stevie who was making his way to the locker room.

“Fuck off,” Stevie said, not bothering to look behind him as he sensed Xabi approaching.

“Stevie, please, let’s talk about this.”

“There’s nothing you can say that will change what happened,” Stevie dismissed.

“You told me I owed you an explanation,” Xabi pointed out quietly. Stevie stopped walking. He gritted his teeth and turned around.

“Make it quick.”

Xabi nodded and took his hand, “Let’s go somewhere private.”

Stevie yanked his hand away from Xabi’s and pushed ahead of him frigidly, “I can find the kit room by myself.”

*

Dan and Fernando both stopped talking when they heard the kit room door swing open violently on its hinges. A grumpy Stevie and an anxious Xabi walked in, but they both froze as soon as they saw Dan and Fernando already inside the cramped space.

“Wow,” Xabi was the first to break the stunned silence. “It seems like everyone uses the kit room for their bullshit sessions.”

But Stevie had taken one glance at Fernando’s red eyes and deep-lined frown and demanded, “What the fuck did you do this time, Agger?”  
“Why me?!”

“Because you were the one who slept with Finns?” Xabi filled in impatiently. This was the only time he could get Stevie to talk to him, he didn’t need these pesky little freckled brats to eat off his time.

“Oh, you have some nerve bringing up infidelity, Xabi,” Fernando snorted.

Xabi trained cold, narrowed eyes at the younger Spaniard. “Like I don’t see you hanging around my boyfriend like a leech.”

“Don’t even bring Fernando into this,” Stevie cut him off.

“You’re quick to come to his defence,” Dan spat out suspiciously.

“I’m not like you,” Stevie replied coolly, smirking at the defender.

“Nothing’s going on between us,” Fernando clarified to Xabi, but the Basque wouldn’t listen.

“Fucking cocktease,” he murmured, and before everyone could jump at the remark, the kit room door creaked open again.

Finns walked in, whistling, when he stopped mid-tune with furrowed eyebrows. “You all looking for an extra kit too?”

“Well, speaking of cocktease...” Stevie laughed sardonically.

“Hey!” Finns yelped with indignation.

“Don’t fucking talk to Finns like that.” Dan defended.

“I saw you have sex with Harry in my bedroom,” Fernando spoke to Xabi with such unnerving sweetness. “Have you told Stevie about that? I think that was during the lesson on trinomials. Or was it during your tutorial on derivatives? Because I’ve lost count.”

Xabi’s face burned. “Stay out of our fucking relationship.”

“Look, I’m not involved in this, I’m just here to get myself another training kit –” Finns tried to make his way to the shelf of training gear, but the bickering four wouldn’t make way.

“You used Harry,” Fernando burst out.

“I did not use him!” Xabi cried out, painted to a corner.

“So you loved him?” Stevie spoke up and his tone was laced with steely anger.

“No, I –” Xabi stammered.

A firm knock on the door interrupted the answer they all waited for with bated breaths.

“At the rate this is going, that just might be Harry Kewell,” Finns pointed out. Dan allowed himself to laugh maniacally at that remark.

But it was Rafa who poked his bald head into the kit room and he was not happy.

“What is this? Training started 10 minutes ago and half of my first team is missing! No one asked permission from me to leave the pitch and your teammates are waiting for you!”

Rafa ran his eyes over the cramped, damp, dark closet; Fernando, Daniel, Steven, Xabi and Stephen all stared at him with scared eyes and dropped jaws.

He sighed and rubbed his temples, “And for heaven’s sakes, why are you all in the kit room?”

Stevie was the first to shake out of his stupor. “Sorry, Rafa, we were just dealing with some... important team matters. But it’s finished now.”

Rafa nodded and raised his eyebrow. “I’ll deal with this tardiness later. Go and get changed, all of you.”

Stevie nodded, “Don’t worry, we’re going.”

Xabi watched with a heavy heart as Stevie looked at Fernando and took his hand and said quietly, “Let’s go, Nando.”

“Wait –” Daniel protested, but Finns held him back. He whispered, “Let him go.”

Fernando waited for Daniel to say no to Finns, tell him he was wrong and stop Fernando from leaving. But Dan didn’t. Fernando shook his head and walked out, following Stevie.

*

“Harry.”

It was the only thing Xabi could choke out before he flew at him and whimpered against the Australian’s t-shirt.

“Xabi, wha—” Harry was baffled, but he still tentatively wrapped his arms around Xabi’s heaving shoulders. Xabi looked up, “I’m sorry I disturbed you.”

Harry smiled at him kindly and wiped the tears off his cheeks. “What happened?”

“I don’t know,” Xabi sighed and leaned against the wall, staring at the fading blue paint of Harry’s room, “I just... I didn’t think things would get this messy.”

Xabi looked so distraught, so lost and helpless, Harry couldn’t help himself. He kissed him full-on and ran his hands through his hair and pressed him against the wall. He told himself he wouldn’t do this again, but he lost his brain got all fuzzy every time Xabi was concerned.

“Oh, god, I missed this,” Xabi panted when Harry kissed a trail down his jaw and to the Basque’s neck. He ignored how Xabi didn’t say he missed him. Instead, he just tugged him closer and they tussled for domination and deeper kisses, until they stumbled into the bathroom.

“We’ve never tried this here before,” Xabi said, allowing himself his first giggle of the day.

Harry growled and shoved Xabi against the kitchen sink. Xabi moaned again as the porcelain dug into his back painfully.

“Did you think we would never get caught?” The question slipped out of Harry’s lips as he licked at Xabi’s collarbone.

“I knew we couldn’t keep hiding,” Xabi murmured, his tone thick with desire.

“But you didn’t end it.”

“I couldn’t decide.” Xabi impatiently pushed Harry’s head back down on his chest, sighing contentedly when he felt the mouth working at his nipple again.

“You had to choose between me and Stevie and you couldn’t decide?” Harry asked, as he struggled with undoing Xabi’s pants.

“I thought one relationship would end before I had to make a choice.”

Harry’s hand dove into Xabi’s boxers and Xabi groaned at the friction. “Your relationship with Stevie’s over,” Harry pointed out with a tiny smirk and a spark of hope inside him.

Xabi rocked into his hand and said in between gasps for air, “Which is why I have to get him back.”

“That’s not in the rules!” Harry snapped, unintentionally giving Xabi’s member a hard tug. Xabi whimpered at the pleasure bordering close to pain. He sighed and nuzzled at Harry’s neck, “God, Harry, you always know how to make me feel better.”

And for a while, Harry was numb as he dutifully stroked at Xabi’s cock, showering kisses on Xabi’s shoulders and even sincerely feeling a bit better when Xabi mewled in encouragement. He jacked off Xabi, paying no mind to his own need, all the way until Xabi was shivering, his arms were trembling as they grabbed the sink for support.

“Make me come, Harry,” Xabi coaxed, sweat breaking out all over his body as he feverishly thrust forward.

Then something in Harry just broke. Xabi opened his eyes in frustration at the sudden loss of touches on his cock.

“Harry, what...?”

“You know what?” Harry sneered. He took a step back and eyed a quivering, vulnerable Xabi from head to toe. “You don’t deserve it.”

Xabi was coughing up something between a laugh and a gasp of disbelief. “What did you say?”

Harry smiled a steely smile. He leaned close to Xabi and whispered in his ear, “Just because you’re the best in everything doesn’t mean you can do whatever you want. I’m not surprised Stevie doesn’t want to take you back.”

Xabi’s jaw dropped and all colour left his face.

“Harry, I’m back!” A tired voice floated in from the door, the sound of bags dropping on the floor followed. Soon, Fernando walked up and froze as he caught sight of the pair in the bathroom.

Xabi blinked, glancing from Harry to Fernando and back to Harry again.

“Leave.” Harry said resolutely, disgustedly.

Xabi hurriedly pulled up his boxers and his jeans, tears blurring his vision. He blinked them back. He wasn’t done buttoning his shirt when he rushed outside the room, head down and cheeks burning.

“...What was that about?” Fernando asked slowly.

Harry put a hand on his hip and stared hard at the tiles on the floor, counting the squares. When his anger calmed down slightly, he looked up and shrugged at Fernando. The Spaniard tilted his head to the side and offered Harry a small, consoling smile.

“Are you okay?” Fernando asked gently.

Harry tried to answer the question. He wondered what was more painful: the burning feeling gnawing away at his heart or the aching arousal in his trousers.

Finally, he turned to his roommate, standing by the doorway with a worried look upon his face. His hair was still damp and his shirt clung to his sweaty front, clearly outlining the well-defined planes of his torso.

“Come here, Torres.”

Fernando blinked and may have even thought twice. But he padded into the bathroom nonetheless.

“I need you to do me a favour,” Harry whispered and Fernando’s eyes fluttered close at the contact of Harry’s lips against his ear. Before he knew it, Harry hefted him up easily on the bathroom counter, splaying Fernando’s legs apart and settling in between them.

Harry shot the Spaniard a lopsided smirk as he rubbed circles up Fernando’s thigh. “Lend me a helping hand here, yeah?”

Harry almost missed the curt nod, but he didn’t miss Fernando’s hands tentatively reached out under Harry’s shirt, running his fingers over his chest. Harry’s shirt hiked up the higher Fernando’s hands explored. He impatiently whipped it off then grabbed the sides of Fernando’s face and met his lips into a bruising kiss; the battles, the break-ups and the heartbreak finally weighing down on both of them. They kissed long and hard, with eyes tightly shut and needy heated bodies moving in sync, trying to ignore that they were alone together.


	11. Side story: Courting disaster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a secret party, but only Stevie and Fernando are invited. They go down the rabbit hole and see where it leads.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a side story to Collision Course, written because people were asking about that strange chemistry between Stevie and Fernando and what it could possibly lead to if circumstances were... different. This takes place right after the latest chapter I posted, but it’s really more like a what-if-it-happened than a when-did-it-happen.

“Hey, Stevie.”

Fernando looked up and saw a tall blond girl leaning on Stevie’s locker , apparently waiting for the players to come out of training. She was beautiful – full-bodied, with a pouty smile and dark, lined eyes. 

“Hey, Alex,” Stevie greeted back.

Oh, so that was the Alex Curran Carra kept teasing Stevie about.

“Great game last weekend,” Alex said, fluttering her thick eyelashes. “4-0 to Newcastle, wasn’t it?”

“Erm, actually it was 3-0. To Sunderland.” Stevie grinned sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “But it was a great game,” he added helpfully.

“Oh. Silly me,” Alex threw back her head and laughed, her shiny blond curls bouncing off her shoulders. Fernando reached up and combed his unruly hair with his fingers self-consciously.

Stevie coughed, “This is Fernando, by the way.”

Fernando lurked behind Stevie uncomfortably, but the Scouser tugged him forward. Fernando managed a shy smile at Alex and gave her a small wave.

“He’s the top scorer in the team, you know,” the captain added, a hint of pride in his tone.

“Huh,” Alex said, obviously disinterested with that football tidbit, but she did eye the Spaniard from head to toe. Fernando squirmed under her gaze. Okay, so maybe she wasn’t completely disinterested.

“I’m having a party tonight,” Alex brought up all of a sudden. She pushed off Stevie’s locker and took a few steps closer to him, a sultry smile on her lips. “I want you there.”

Stevie blinked, a rosy flush evident on his cheeks. “Tonight? Your parties are always advertised a month in advance at least.”

“Well, it’s a secret party,” Alex laughed, accidentally brushing her hand against Stevie’s arm but keeping it there. “It’s hush-hush because I want only the people in my guest list there.”

“What if people don’t show up because it’s short notice?” Stevie asked.

Alex scoffed and brushed imaginary lint from her pink cashmere cardigan. “People wouldn’t dare think of not going to my parties.”

Fernando shuffled his feet, trying to pretend like he didn’t mind being ignored, but the girl suddenly turned towards him.

“I don’t usually invite younger batches to my exclusive parties, but I guess I could put you in the guest list, yeah?” She winked at Fernando playfully, “Besides, some of my girls fancy the arse off you.”

Fernando’s jaw dropped and before he could give a polite declination, Stevie swooped in and answered brightly for both of them, “That sounds great! We’ll both be there then.”

“Super,” Alex grinned. “8 PM, my place.”

Fernando stammered helplessly, but Stevie easily elbowed him and gave Alex a good appreciative leer as she sauntered away, miniskirt flouncing dangerously.

“What?” Fernando punched Stevie’s shoulder. “I don’t want to go to some crazy-ass secret party!”

“Come on, it’ll do us some good,” Stevie clasped his hands together and gave Fernando his best pout. “You want to spend another night moping in your room about Agger?”

Fernando scowled at the name. Stevie took that as his cue, “It _will_ be fun, I promise.”

“And if it’s not?”

“If it’s not fun, we’ll leave and I’ll even drop you off at your place,” Stevie quickly offered a deal. Fernando looked sceptical, so Stevie hurriedly assured, “—But it will be fun.”

“Why are you so sure?”

Stevie laughed, “Clearly, lad, you’ve never seen Alex Curran party.”

*

“Do you think I should bring something for the party?”

“Like, spliff?”

Fernando looked at Harry incredulously. “Uh, no, like pizza. Or chips. Or peanut butter cookies.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry did a double-take and stopped typing on his laptop, “You did say ‘Alex Curran party’ and not ‘sixth-grade all-girls sleepover,’ right?”

Fernando burned a bright red and threw himself on his bed. “I’m so bad at these things.”

“Don’t over-think it. It’s just a party,” Harry shrugged and went back to the paper he was writing.

“Easy for you to say, sexpot.”

“I prefer ‘social butterfly,’ but ‘sexpot’ has a nice ring to it too,” Harry replied absent-mindedly, still busy poring over the encyclopaedia opened on his lap.

“Harry!” Fernando shouted desperately, “You have to help me.”

Harry rolled his eyes and sighed. Dumping his research on the carpeted floor, he walked to Fernando’s bed.

“Didn’t you ever party in Madrid?”

“No. I told you, I’m not a party-person.”

“What did you ever do on weekends?” Harry demanded. He refused to have an uncool roommate.

“I went to my friend’s house and we played videogames,” Fernando trailed off.

“Oh my god,” Harry wailed, distraught. “You do have no social life!”

“Oh my god, I’m going to screw up so badly tonight, and then I’ll really have no social life!” Fernando started to panic after the Australian’s hysterical response.

Harry shook his head slowly and sat on Fernando’s bed.

“How did this happen?” He asked gently, as if he had just heard about a shocking catastrophe – which was probably what this was.

“My parents had a strict rule on curfew, okay,” the Spaniard replied indignantly, shoving Harry off his mattress in retaliation.

“Well, your parents aren’t here now,” Harry wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. “If they call while you’re gone, I’ll tell them you’re asleep. Or in the library, dutifully studying. Or in church, offering a prayer to God. They’ll like that.”

“What. The fuck. Harry.”

“Anyway, let’s brush over some basics. Show me your sex-face!”

“My... what?”

“Your sex-face,” Harry repeated impatiently. “The ‘fuck me,’ face. Like, even if I see it from thirty yards away, I’ll still cream my pants and want to get over as quickly as I can so I can ravish you.”

Fernando’s eyes bulged out and his jaw dropped.

“...Babe, no.”

“You know, maybe we should just work on what I should wear.”

“Holy mother of God, no Nike please, Torres.” Harry said, jumping off his perch on the bed to Fernando’s closet. He immediately rifled through the pile of clothes and started examining tops.

“Who are you going with tonight?” Harry asked distractedly, voice muffled from inside the closet.

“Uh,” Fernando coughed, “Steven Gerrard.”

Harry ducked out of the closet so quickly, he almost slammed the side of his head against the closet door. “No,” he echoed disbelievingly.

“Yes.”

“You like him.”

“Like a brother,” Fernando corrected meaningfully.

The corner of Harry’s mouth twitched and his eyes sparkled devilishly. Fernando sighed and cut him off before the Australian could heckle.

“And no, Harry, I do not have a thing for incest.”

*

“Hottie alert,” Stevie heard a couple of pre-pubescent girls giggle among themselves in the table next to him. He looked up because he momentarily entertained the possibility that they were gushing about him – he was wrong, of course, but he didn’t have the chance to feel slightly bitter because he saw what the girls were looking at, and he grudgingly had to admit that they were right.

Fernando practically glided through the busy McDonald’s, weaving effortlessly between tables and chairs and hyperactive five-year-olds. His eyes were twinkling excitedly and his cheeks were flushed from rushing to their meeting place. Sure, he was still wearing his favourite ripped jeans and his indispensable black Chuck Taylors, but he had on a black tailored button-down that clung perfectly around his shoulders and torso. Stevie suddenly felt the burgeoning pride of the top jock cinching the prettiest cheerleader as his trophy girlfriend.

“You’re late,” Stevie greeted, a small smirk playing on his lips.

Fernando slipped into the seat across him and ate off Stevie’s plate, like he always did. “Sorry, I had a hard time looking for a cab,” he apologised, popping a French fry into his mouth.

“Have you eaten?” Stevie asked. “You’re going to get thrashed if you drink with an empty stomach,” he added, feeling strangely protective.

Fernando grinned, “Does this mean you’re giving me your nuggets?”

Stevie tried to look exasperated but he ended up laughing instead, pushing his half-eaten chicken nuggets towards the Spaniard. Fernando clapped happily, taking Stevie’s Coke too while the Scouser wasn’t looking.

“You clean up nice,” Stevie blurted out and he wanted to cover his mouth the moment he said those words.

“Thanks,” Fernando mumbled. He focused on sprinkling his – Stevie’s – fries with salt to cover up his embarrassment, and Stevie took his time to wonder how someone could look so good under harsh fluorescent lights, with ketchup smudged on the corner of his lip.

Stevie shook his head to get those senseless thoughts out of his head. It must be all that cholesterol clogging his arteries, cutting off the circulation to his brain. Or something.

“You ready to go?”

“You excited to see Curran?” Fernando teased, crunching the leftover ice cubes with his teeth.

Stevie challenged, “You want me to keep you company in the party?”

“Stevie! I don’t know anyone there!” Fernando yelped helplessly.

Stevie stood up and smiled smugly, contented he had the upper hand again. He made for the exit to hail them a cab, with Fernando walking after him, smart-ass remarks zipped up, just like a good little boy.

*

“This is a fucking mansion,” Fernando gasped as they stepped out of their taxi.

“Never wondered why Alex acts like such a bloody princess?” Stevie retorted. From the sidewalk, they could already hear the blaring music from inside. Stevie led the way across the manicured garden and to the front door where they stopped just by the doorstep.

Fernando’s gut churned and he couldn’t tell if it was nervousness or excitement or dread. He fixed his hair – tucking it behind his ears, then shaking it loose, then smoothing it down again. Stevie watched the Spaniard, amused.

“Alright?”

“’Course!”

Stevie raised an eyebrow, not buying it one bit.

“Fuck it,” Fernando cursed, fixing the buttons of his shirt. 

“Jesus, Torres,” Stevie said, swatting away his hands and fixed Fernando’s collar for him.

“My shirt keeps flopping open,” Fernando complained, trying to press the flaps together but they wouldn’t stay. He sighed and resorted to buttoning his shirt all the way up to his chin.

“Well, it looks better undone.” Stevie argued and pinned the striker’s hands to his sides, before undoing Fernando’s top buttons again. They both ignored the way Stevie’s hands brushed against Fernando’s collarbones ever so slightly. Fernando stared intently at a point just above Stevie’s shoulders to avoid confrontation.

“Ready?” Stevie asked, cutting the intense moment short.

Fernando nodded curtly, and they both crossed the threshold.

The cold breeze from outside was a stark contrast to the hot, stuffy air inside the narrow hallway. Fernando squinted, trying to recognise faces in the scant light but as expected, none of the partygoers looked familiar to him. He was thankful Stevie’s hand was clamped around his shoulder determinedly so they wouldn’t lose each other as they squeezed their way through the throng of people.

They toppled into the kitchen, partly by accident because the crowd suddenly heaved and just like that, Stevie and Fernando fell through the swinging door and into the quieter, cooler room.

Stevie grinned at the traumatised Spaniard. “Welcome to Liverpool then, la.”

“That was a frickin’ obstacle course!”

“Well, you stay here first if you want. I’ll just look for Alex to tell her we’re here.”

Fernando seemed reluctant about being left alone in a strange party, but the crowd outside howled hungrily and cheered drunkenly again. “Good idea,” the striker said, suddenly feeling at home in the quiet, safe, isolated kitchen.

“I’ll be back in a bit,” Stevie said, pushing open the door again and braving the raging swarm.

“Great,” Fernando muttered to himself dropping to a stool by the kitchen counter.

“Not a party person?” Someone asked behind him and Fernando nearly jumped off his seat in surprise. A dark-haired boy leaned on the other side of the counter, across the Spaniard.

“No, not really,” Fernando answered, slightly reluctant. The stranger had a playful smile and kind eyes. Or a kind eyes and a playful smile. Fernando wasn’t sure, but he liked him nevertheless.

“Well, maybe you just need to loosen up, then.” The boy grabbed Fernando’s hand and yanked him to the massive fridge. He yanked the door open, cold air blew on their faces, finding a wide array of bottles with brightly-coloured concoctions.

“Take your pick,” the guy said, cocking his head to the side and studied the Spaniard. Fernando just blinked, unable to come up with an answer because, well, he wasn’t really a drinker. But it seemed embarrassing to say it out loud.

“I suppose you’re go to school with Alex?”

Fernando nodded absently.

“Well, here you go then,” the boy smirked, plucking a bright red drink from the fridge. Fernando had to laugh and he took it.

“I go to Everton,” the stranger raised his appropriately blue-coloured drink at Fernando, winking. “Mikel Arteta.”

“Fernando Torres,” Fernando said in return, raising his drink as well and they clinked bottles. Mikel downed half the bottle in one go, Fernando watched in fascination. Maybe the alcohol wasn’t that strong then? Licking his lips, Fernando took a deep breath and took a swig of the drink. It tasted sharp and felt hot in his throat but other than that, nothing happened. Relaxing, Fernando imitated Mikel and finished his drink.

“I should warn you, that drink’s a traitor,” Mikel said, lining their bottles by the trash. Fernando’s face burned at the fact that the stranger felt like he had to take care of him. He ignored Mikel’s warning – because, really, he felt fine. His fingers started to tingle slightly but that hardly deserved a panic attack – and flirted back instead.

“You’re not trying to get me drunk?” Fernando asked, crossing his arms over his chest and pretending to seem disappointed.

Mikel’s cheeks blushed an adorable shade of pink, “...I could if you wanted me to.”

Well, Fernando really hasn’t gotten wasted before, but this felt like a good night to at least try to get buzzed. Just buzzed, he promised to himself. He’ll count his drinks, sip water in between and pee it all out so he’s just nicely buzzed.

Fernando opened the fridge again to answer Mikel’s question and glanced at the other boy with a raised eyebrow.

Mikel’s eyes twinkled as he accepted the invitation. “Next round then, Torres.”

Fernando grinned – he found himself grinning much more easily – as he watched Mikel open the bottles for both of them. Now this party was starting to get interesting.

*

“One dance, Stevie?” Alex yelled to be heard over the music and Stevie cringed at the high-pitched voice blaring down his ear. He wanted to say no but she was the hostess – the hostess of the parties and Stevie still wanted to be invited to her next one. Besides, she was wearing this ridiculously low-cut corset and almost see-through tulle skirt, so it wasn’t half-bad, Stevie thought in an effort to convince himself.

“Come on then,” Stevie nodded. Alex beamed and clapped, before dragging Stevie to the middle of the dancefloor. Alex easily slipped in between the gyrating bodies but Stevie took an elbow or two to the chin before they found themselves what could vaguely be called “space.”

The music was loud and pumping and Alex didn’t miss a beat. She immediately entwined her arms around Stevie’s neck and started swaying them to the song. The crowd was rowdy and the dancefloor was packed, the most dancing they could manage was to sort of hobble from one foot to another.

Stevie wanted to feel turned on, he really did. But Alex’s tulle skirt looked so rough and itchy, even if she swivelled her hips suggestively in front of Stevie, he couldn’t feel the slightest hint of excitement. Sighing in frustration, he tilted his head back to enjoy the music instead, when something caught his eye.

That had to be Fernando – It couldn’t be anyone else: tall and pasty with ginger-platinum-dirty blonde-brown hair, bobbing to the music a few paces away from Stevie and Alex. A relieved grin broke out across the Scouser’s face. As he was about to call out to him to wave him over, the people on the dancefloor moved to a beat, swayed to a side, and suddenly Stevie saw it completely: not just Fernando but the guy he was dancing with. Mikel Arteta, if Stevie wasn’t mistaken.

Mikel was a friend of Xabi’s – one reason for Stevie to bristle with irritation already. But he was also from Everton, which Stevie hated with a passion. And that Basque was there, dancing with Fernando, arms hanging loosely off the striker’s hips, their foreheads leaned together and small, dazed smiles exchanged. It was dark and crowded, the lights were dizzying too. You wouldn’t have noticed them if you weren’t staring. And of course, Stevie was staring hard.

Stevie must have tensed up because Alex briefly looked up, confused at why her partner had suddenly stiffened.

“Alright there, Stevie?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Stevie quickly replied, flashing Alex a tight smile. He coughed, trying to sound off-handed, “I didn’t know Mikel Arteta was here.”

“Oh, yeah,” Alex broke into a wide smile. “He’s a looker, isn’t he? My girls fancy the pants off him. I hear he’s the it-thing in Everton!”

“Really?” Stevie replied, his voice sounding hollow. “That’s great.”

Alex briefly swivelled around to follow Stevie’s distracted gaze. “It seems like he’s met Fernando then. Isn’t that just precious?” She cooed, watching the two Spaniards together.

Stevie gritted his teeth and pointedly looked away. Sure, it was precious, the way Mikel’s lips accidentally brushed against the side of Fernando’s neck as he leaned over to whisper something. And the way an adventurous hand felt the curve of Fernando’s hip before the fingers entwined themselves tightly on the striker’s belt loops. Wasn’t it just fucking precious.

Stevie took a deep breath, comforted himself at the thought that he knew Mikel and he was a decent boy, but the Scouser couldn’t find it in him to trust those one or two conversations they had in passing before. Mikel, after all, was a red-blooded male with probably a drink or two or five on him already. If Stevie had Fernando pressing tightly against him like that, Stevie wouldn’t even think twice about wanting to fuck him.

Wait, what?

*

“You want another drink?” A hot whisper blew against the shell of his ear and Fernando shivered. He gulped down and nodded and a smile slowly graced Mikel’s fine features.

“Come on,” Mikel said, his grip on Fernando’s side suddenly tightening with possessiveness and urgency. Fernando’s heartbeats quickened with anticipation as they squeezed through the packed living room and back to the kitchen.

Fernando heard the kitchen door swing close harmlessly and he felt let down for a second. He expected Mikel to throw him against the door and just fucking kiss him already. Guess he wasn’t the Daniel Agger type then.

Groaning inwardly, Fernando impatiently snatched a bottle of Smirnoff from Mikel and chugged the contents down. Mikel watched him with bemused satisfaction. Licking his lips, Fernando set his bottle down on the counter and approached the other Spaniard who was _still just standing there_. Fernando sighed, did he have to do all the work here?

Alcohol charging through his system, Fernando slipped easily between Mikel and the fridge. He saw the lust spark in Mikel’s eyes, until it was suddenly clouded over by hesitation. This gentlemanly behaviour might have been endearing some other day, but right now, Fernando just raised an impatient eyebrow. He grabbed Mikel’s hips and roughly pulled him towards him until they both fell against the cool metal of Alex’s heavy-duty fridge with a soft thud.

Fernando smiled, a glint of challenge in his eyes, “Do it.”

Mikel, to his credit, needed no more encouragement and crashed their lips into a searing kiss. Fernando grinned into the liplock, feeling a wave of relief wash over him. Mikel had just started to slip his tongue into Fernando’s mouth and they had just gotten into the rhythm of things when someone spoke up behind them.

“Well, don’t hold the alcohol hostage.”

Mikel and Fernando pulled away an inch, reluctantly. The striker opened his eyes and cursed underneath his breath when he saw Stevie standing a few feet away from them, hand on hip, face of stone.

 

“Steven Gerrard,” Mikel greeted coldly, turning to face the Scouser and holding his gaze level. Now that Stevie and Xabi split up, they didn’t have to pretend that they liked each other anymore. They were, after all, the icons of two rival schools.

“Mikel Arteta,” Stevie said back, drawing himself up to full height and glaring back darkly at the Evertonian.

Mikel slipped his arm around Fernando’s waist and ushered them away from the fridge and to the kitchen counter instead. “Do you mind?” Mikel asked Stevie, voice dripping with sweet sarcasm as he dipped his head to kiss Fernando again.

Stevie rolled his hands into fists as he saw Mikel kiss Fernando deeply, and their striker shamefully kissing back with as much vigour.

It took the Scouser about three strides to stalk over to where the two Spaniards were, and one swift tug to get Fernando away from Mikel.

“Actually, I do mind,” Stevie hit back. He gave the Basque one last scornful glare before leaving the kitchen, taking a bewildered and protesting Fernando with him.

*

“What the hell was that?” Fernando yelled, breaking free from Stevie’s iron grip around his wrist.

“I didn’t bring you here so you could slut it up with random strangers,” Stevie shot back.

Fernando’s jaw dropped. “You told me to come here and have fun. What was I supposed to do? Enjoy the music?”

“But, Mikel Arteta?” Stevie spluttered out.

“I don’t have to get your permission!”

“Carra told me to keep an eye out on you,” Stevie said, wagging his finger.

“Yeah, I noticed,” the Spaniard replied coolly. “You’ve been watching me all night.”

Stevie’s cheeks burned. He turned toward the front door, “We’re leaving.”

But Fernando ducked before Stevie could grab him again. “I’ll find my own way home,” he said, before he strode off and immediately got swallowed by the crowd.

*

Stevie was getting impatient. He had scoured the dancefloor for the fifth time. He’d also gone through the kitchen, the dining room and the powder room twice. He had to explore the garden thrice, though, because it was dark and there were too many couples sprawled on the grass and it was tricky to try and check their faces.

Fernando was nowhere to be found.

Stevie tried calling him but he wasn’t answering. The music was deafening so maybe he couldn’t hear his mobile. Or maybe he was still ignoring Stevie.

The Scouser briefly entertained the idea of calling Harry to see if Fernando had gone home, but that would mean calling Harry. That wasn’t good. Besides, he didn’t have Harry’s number and he would have to get it from Xabi, which didn’t sound like a good idea either. And he was sure getting Xabi to call Harry about Fernando who was partying with Stevie wouldn’t go down well with anyone.

Which is why he found himself lingering by the staircase to the second floor. Alex had set clear rules for everyone to keep the party in the first floor, but everyone knew that was crazy. After all, where were people going to have sex?

The moment that thought crossed Stevie’s mind, he immediately lunged up the stairs, his heart crashing against his ribcage. He could already imagine Fernando in bed with that blueshite and that made Stevie even angrier inside.

He found him in one of the more obscure rooms – not the lavish bedrooms or the ornate bathrooms, but a small sitting room with plush couches and warm lamps. It had now been taken over by some ten people and there was a thin layer of smoke hovering lightly under the lamplight.

Fernando was on one of the couches, flanked by not one but two boys lavishing attention on him. The Spaniard was busy kissing one while the other licked at his neck, a hand steadily moving inside Fernando’s jeans. Stevie gritted his teeth, shook his head to get the image out of his mind and walked over.

Someone stopped him, a boy he must have crossed once or twice in school. The stranger smirked at him and held up a glass of neon orange liquid.

“Sorry, Steven Gerrard, you have to drink before you enter,” he said, grinning.

Stevie took the glass impatiently and gulped down the drink. It must have been orange juice once. Now it tasted like orange-flavoured gin so strong, it felt like gulping down paint thinner. If that was what everyone in the room had, no wonder it smelled like weed and people were stretched out bonelessly all over the place.

“Fernando.” Stevie tried to sound stern as he called his teammate’s attention, but there was a lump on his throat.

“Hey, Stevie,” The Spaniard finally managed to extract himself from both boys, enough to giggle drunkenly at his captain. He nodded at the boy he had briefly stopped kissing and said, “This is Phillip.”

The dark-haired boy nodded distractedly at Stevie and the Scouser noted that he looked an awful lot like Daniel.

“And this is David,” Fernando continued, running his fingers through the hair of the other boy persistently sucking at his neck. The other turned around to give Stevie a perfunctory greeting and Stevie was taken aback at what he saw. Fernando explained with another uncontrollable giggle as David licked along the shell of his ear, “I’ve always wanted to try it with twins.”

Stevie watched, utterly dumbstruck. Watched as Fernando gracefully arched upwards to let Philip slide off his shirt. Watched as the twins touched and kissed down his torso. Watched as Fernando locked eyes with him all throughout, coaxing him to watch him. And Stevie doesn’t understand why Fernando wants to fuck with his mind, but it’s definitely working.

Stevie barrels his way through and clamps a heavy hand on Philip’s (David’s?) shoulder, yanking him away fiercely.

“Hey!” The Swiss yelped as he toppled over backwards.

The other twin looked up to see what the ruckus was about. Stevie grabbed him by the collar and snarled, “Fuck off.”

David’s eyes widened and Stevie can really be threatening when he wants to be, so the Swiss kind of gave this weak growl before reluctantly climbing off the couch.

“Stevie,” Fernando hoisted himself up on his shoulders. He spoke evenly, “Either you let them go or you take their place.”

And maybe Fernando just said that for effect or for poeticism or for shock value, but one thing was sure, he said it because he knew Stevie wouldn’t dare take up the offer and then Fernando could just fuck in peace.

But Stevie replied with the same evenness, “Fine.”

Before Fernando could react, Stevie had joined him on the couch and pulled him into a kiss.

And the striker must have just sat there for a full five seconds, letting Stevie kiss him and not kissing back. In his hazy mind, he tried to piece it all together. Stevie, his captain, Xabi’s (ex-)boyfriend, sure, he’s flirted with Fernando once or twice for fun, but the real thing was apparently so much better. And no one in the team was probably going to approve of this tryst (except Harry), but it gave Fernando a sense of vindication that they could fuck people over too, in retaliation.

So, Fernando finally kissed back with as much force as he could muster, and he felt Stevie sigh in the kiss and murmur, “Finally, Torres.”

They kissed slowly, sensuously, only briefly stopping to catch their breath or to let Stevie pull off his top. He wanted to feel Fernando’s smooth, heated body against his, and the friction didn’t disappoint.

And Stevie couldn’t get enough of those sounds Fernando was making: the slight whimper when Stevie licked down his chest, the deep growl when Stevie ran his teeth over the nub of his nipple. And the surprised hiss when Stevie palmed the bulge the twins left in Fernando’s jeans.

“Are we...?” Fernando trailed off breathlessly, uncertainly.

But Stevie was no-nonsense. “You don’t want that sorted out?” He asked in a way that sounded like he didn’t care what the answer was. Really, it wasn’t everyday he could have Fernando entwined around him waiting to be fucked. He’d be damned if he let himself walk away from this now.

“Are you sure?” Fernando asked while he still had the sense to.

Stevie ripped open his jeans in answer, letting his hands roam around Fernando to cup his ass and knead it with his fingers. Fernando reached over to massage Stevie’s growing erection, taking his cock in his hands and stroking it teasingly slow. Stevie moaned, trying not to buck into the striker’s grip. Fernando grinned mischievously then bent down, fleetingly licking the pre-cum leaking from the head of Stevie’s cock. Stevie moaned louder.

Fernando drew himself up and placed a chaste kiss on Stevie’s temple. He whispered, “Will you fuck me?”

Stevie nodded, digging through his jean pockets for a condom. He cursed inwardly when he didn’t find any. He didn’t really think he was going to get laid tonight.

Fernando watched him with a raised eyebrow. “I don’t dry-fuck.”

Stevie cursed again, frantically looking through his pockets again hoping he might have missed something.

Until a small packet fell on Stevie’s chest, followed by a small tube of lube. Fernando and Stevie both looked up to see Philip smirking at them.

“I’m moving to your school next semester,” he explained. “I figured I should make friends as early as now.”

Stevie mumbled a thank you, but Fernando’s face broke into a devilish grin, “Just call me.”

Stevie glared at the Swiss making moves on his Fernando. So, he wasted no time in pushing Fernando’s jeans and underwear off his legs before slicking a finger with lube and teasing the opening.

Fernando’s breath got caught in his throat, his nails digging into Stevie’s shoulders in anticipation of the penetration.

Slowly, Stevie pushed one finger in. Fernando winced at first but he took deep breaths until Stevie’s digit was buried in deep and pushing in another. Fernando shuddered, hips impatiently pressing back against Stevie’s movements.

“I’m ready,” Fernando panted hurriedly. But before Stevie could climb over Fernando, the Spaniard pushed Stevie on his back instead and straddled him.

“What are you doing?” Stevie asked shakily even though he knew full well what could only happen next.

Fernando gripped Stevie’s cock and pressed it against his entrance. Stevie gaped – Fernando was usually breathtaking to behold, but seeing him preparing to fuck himself on Stevie was a different thing altogether.

Stevie’s train of thought was abruptly cut off when he felt a mind-numbing tightness slowly engulf his cock inch by inch. The players both groaned in unison. When Stevie was buried into Fernando to the hilt, they both stopped, just to relish the feeling of being completely full and stretched.

“Come here,” Stevie hoarsely whispered. Fernando obediently bent down and they both kissed urgently, coursing all the pent-up angst and frustrated pleasure into the lip-lock.

Fernando was the first to pull away. He placed either hand on Stevie’s chest for balance and then, he rocked his hips forward. Stevie shut his eyes and groaned again, feeling Fernando clench and move above him. Fernando slowly rode him, sending torturous waves of pleasure emanating from Stevie’s core to every frayed nerve in his body. The Scouser thrust upwards in rhythm to the striker’s movements and Fernando shuddered, feeling Stevie’s cock bury deeper into him.

“Xabi and Daniel suspect we’ve been doing this all this time,” Fernando said in soft moans.

Stevie gripped Fernando’s hips tightly, “We should’ve proven them right a long time ago.”

“It’s happy hour!” Someone announced when he burst into the room, waving around a small plastic bag. There was a slight commotion and even Fernando and Stevie briefly stopped. A random boy approached Stevie and stuck a stick of spliff between his lips. Stevie obediently took a deep breath, letting the smoke fill his throat, before exhaling it dazedly. Fernando looked on enviously, so someone else took the Spaniard by the hair and forced him into a kiss. Stevie thought he saw a slight hint of tongue and a white crumbling pill being passed on.

When the others left and went back to their own business, so did Stevie and Fernando. The Spaniard went back to rocking and Stevie helped him by grinding against his ass. Soon, however, Fernando started shivering, and he had to stop. The striker titled his head back and moaned to himself, smiling dazedly, his eyes slowly becoming unfocused

Stevie shook his head. That E must have been strong.

He sat up and supported Fernando’s back and he flipped them over as gently as he could without having to pull out of the Spaniard. Fernando groaned loudly, the sudden movement sending him to nauseating dizziness, but the greater friction of Stevie’s cock inside him overpowered the motion sickness with this suffocating wave of pleasure.

Fernando lay back on the couch, drained, his limbs still shaking and Stevie took the lead. He slung the Spaniard’s legs around his waist and started pumping in with wild abandon. Fernando tried to moan with whatever energy wasn’t sapped out of him yet. He became high and every dart of pleasure became a blow of ecstasy rearranging colours in his brain.

Stevie came inside him with a loud shout, the heat coating Fernando from the inside. He shakily took Stevie’s hands and put them on his cock. Stevie took the hint and immediately started pumping his member. It didn’t take Fernando long to come in Stevie’s hands, weakly gasping for breath with every spurt.

The music downstairs softened and the roar of the crowd was no subdued. Stevie looked at his watch and if his eyes weren’t deceiving him yet, it was almost daybreak. Stevie summoned every last shred of strength to stand up and walk around the second floor, looking for a blanket, stepping over couples and partygoers sprawled all over the place. He finally found an extra duvet in one of the guest bedrooms.

Padding back into the sitting room, he found Fernando still on the couch, already passed out. Stevie had no energy to hoist him into a cab and suddenly, it seemed so inviting to just spend the night here. Joining the Spaniard on the couch, he pulled his limp body towards him and spread the blanket over them.

Stevie let the haziness take him in. The alcohol, the drugs and just the sheer craziness of tonight, Stevie and Fernando probably wouldn’t remember this tomorrow. But right now, that didn’t really matter.


	12. On the line

_Hi, boys and girls!  
The Oracle, Anfield High’s official publication, is publishing its Mid-Year Awards next issue. Make your voice heard and drop your ballots here!_

_**Best Athlete** _

_Name: Sami Hyypia_  
Year: IV  
Best Athlete: Sami Hyypia. Give me a break, I’m graduating already. 

_Name: Jermaine Pennant_  
Year: III  
Best Athlete: Jermaine “I can score with my knee” Pennant 

_Name: Dirk Kuyt_  
Year: III  
Best Athlete: Dirk Kuyt scored with his knee before Jermaine Pennant did. Fact. 

_Name: Ryan Babel_  
Year: I  
Best Athlete: Well, I scored with my arse so shut up all of you. – Ryan Babel 

_Name: Steven Gerrard_  
Year: III  
Best Athlete: Steven Gerrard. Enough said. 

_Name: Fernando Torres_  
Year: II  
Best Athlete: ~~Harry Kewell. Ooh. Burn! Sorry, Harry.~~ Steven Gerrard. 

_Name: Xabi Alonso_  
Year: III  
Best Athlete: Not Javier Mascherano. 

_Name: Pepe Reina_  
Year: II  
Best Athlete: PEPE REINA THERE IS NO OTHER CHOICE OKAY 

*

Fernando watched the screen of his mobile intently, silently wishing for it to light up to announce a new message received. In the past few days, it seemed like his mobile was quieter than usual. By that, of course, Fernando meant that _Daniel_ had been quieter than usual.

The defender had stopped texting as much since that massive four-way blow-out in the kit room and frankly, Fernando couldn’t blame him. Daniel had been put through a catfight with a miserable, bitter Scouser, a heartbroken smart-ass and his conflicted best friend. And all for what? A History partner and only a couple of shameless trysts and no real relationship to show for it. No one was worth that much trouble.

Fernando huffed an exasperated sigh. Maybe he should just swallow his pride and text first. The longer the fight drew out, the harder it became for him to remember why he was so incensed to begin with. Now, it was just becoming a matter of who could hold out longer.

Harry looked over his desk and saw Fernando moping about again. Crumpling his most recent attempt at a parabolic equation, he aimed and easily hit the Spaniard at the side of the head.

“Stop zoning out,” Harry scolded when Fernando looked up dazedly.

Fernando smiled tiredly and stood up from his desk, making his way to their now-much-abused coffeemaker. “I just need some coffee to keep me up.”

“You don’t need coffee,” Harry retorted, going back to revising for his Advanced Algebra class, “You need to stop thinking about Daniel Agger.”

“I’m not thinking about Daniel Agger,” Fernando answered, “...Much.”

“Well, too bad because your Chemistry coursework won’t revise itself.”

Fernando rounded their dorm room, sipping his coffee thoughtfully. “Harry, why did you throw all your clean laundry all over your bed?”

Harry looked behind his shoulder at his bed, the bedsheets now almost unseen below the layer of shirts, underwear and socks. He shrugged, “So the bed won’t tempt me.”

“...You’re going celibate now?”

“No,” Harry rolled his eyes, “So the bed won’t tempt me to lie down and go to sleep instead of finish studying for my finals tomorrow.”

Fernando jumped on to Harry’s bed, now an extra layer thicker and softer and smelling of detergent. He smiled happily, “I think your experiment has failed.”

The Australian looked on jealously as Fernando contentedly sank into his laundry pile. It did look really comfortable.

“Come on, Kewell. Ten-minute power nap,” Fernando urged, throwing a roll of socks at Harry. Harry caught them easily but still looked dubious. The last time they took a ten-minute power nap, they fell so deep into sleep, by the time they woke up, it was an hour before both their exams.

But then again, this lecture on parabolas was only last week and Harry was pretty sure it was still fresh in his mind. Maybe he didn’t really need to review that topic anymore. Or he could review it later when he woke up. It was still only 4 AM anyway.

Dammit, his rationalisation powers were good.

“Ten minutes, Torres,” Harry said warningly, slapping his books closed with vehemence, “Now scoot over.”

*

Alvaro grunted, trying to twist the cap off his orange juice bottle but to no avail. “I’m so fucking thirsty and the universe,” Alvaro gnawed at the cap, “is conspiring against me.”

“Jesus, Arbeloa,” Pepe snapped, snatching the bottle from his countryman and easily unscrewing the lid just like that. “You’re such an imbecile.”

Alvaro’s jaw dropped in amazement before he hastily gulped down his drink.

A few rows below on the team coach, Riise shook his head and laughed, “Has anyone ever told you guys that you both act like a couple?”

Alvaro almost choked on his orange juice. Pepe scowled, “I have a girlfriend.”

“So?” Stevie interrupted, moodily glaring out the window, “Never stopped anyone before.”

The whole group was stunned silent.

Stevie froze, realising what he just said. “I didn’t mean to say that out loud.”

The team all feigned ‘ohs’ and affirmative nods.

Sami knelt on his seat and nudged Carra sitting in the row behind him, “I thought Stevie and Xabi’s fight would blow over soon, but this is just getting crazy. We should get them back together already.”

“What?” Carra exclaimed. Sami glared at him to keep it down and avoid attention. Carra dropped his tone and continued, “That’s insane.”

“Stevie’s a miserable git and Xabi isn’t even hanging out with us anymore,” the Finn pointed out. He added, “And they’re both supposed to play in midfield for this game.”

“Yeah, but Xabi cheated on Stevie,” the Scouser countered. “Let them be split up.”

“You think just like Stevie,” Sami said, shaking his head.

“Exactly,” Carra nodded. “And we both have simple values. Loyalty’s one of them.”

“And forgiveness?” Sami asked simply.

Carra smiled sadly and shook his head, dropping back to his seat, “Sorry, Sami.”

Sami scowled and sat back down as well. He noticed Fernando and Xabi enter the bus, followed by Rafa.

“So, everyone’s complete? We can leave now?” Rafa asked, doing a headcount. Stevie gave him a thumbs-up. The door swung to a close and the coach engine roared to life.

Sami watched as Stevie raised his hand to call Fernando over to the empty seat beside him. And from the back of the bus, Daniel watched the scene unfold carefully.

Sami sighed and wondered why he had to orchestrate everything by himself around here.

“Fernando, sit here!” The big Finns said, hollering at the striker. “I need to talk to you about something important.”

Fernando looked confused, but he shrugged and dropped on the seat next to Sami. The defender whirled around just to do a quick run-through: Daniel looked relieved, Stevie looked bemused until Xabi took the cue to approach the Scouser.

“Can I sit here?” Xabi asked quietly, but the entire bus was dead silent, desperately trying to overhear their conversation. Stevie was painfully aware of this and what was he supposed to do? Say the seat was taken even if it was a blatant lie and give Crouch more gossip material for the locker room later?

“Sure,” Stevie mumbled, removing his duffel from the seat and dumping it on the floor.

“Thanks,” Xabi said shyly.

And it was just so obvious that everyone had eavesdropped, because right after Xabi and Stevie had settled in next to each other, it was like there was a collective sigh of relief, then the usual team chatter started.

Carra reached over Sami’s seat to give the Finn a good whack on the side of the head. “You fucking minx.”

“So, what did you need to talk to me about?” Fernando asked, still wide-eyed and oblivious.

Carra laughed, “Yeah, Sami, what did you need to talk to Fernando about?”

Sami glared at Carra before smiling kindly at the young Spaniard, “Nothing, Niño. I just wanted to hang out with you for a change. Is that such a crime?”

Fernando glanced at Carra who roared laughing again. “Um, okay. Do you want to see my new videogame?”

Sami groaned inwardly. He didn’t understand these new contraptions anymore and the bright lights on the screens always hurt his eyes. But Fernando was looking at him hopefully, clutching his PSP hopefully. And Carra was still wheezing loudly, trying to catch his breath from laughing so hard. They both waited for Sami to respond.

“Sure,” Sami said, hoping his enthusiastic grin reached his eyes, “What fun!”

*

“So, are you nervous about the game?” Xabi asked tentatively.

Stevie didn’t reply, glared outside as if the passing cars held the meaning to life.

Xabi coughed and tried again. “Manchester City’s had a really good start to the season, yeah?”

Stevie sighed and gave a one-shoulder shrug in response.

“Um, do you want to play a game?”

That got the captain’s attention. His head whirled around and he glanced at Xabi in disbelief, “What?”

Xabi tried to smile, “Like, we could look at the car plates and make words out of the letters. The person with the longest word wins?”

Stevie shook his head and looked back outside. He said frostily, “No.”

“Stevie, please,” Xabi urged, trying to grab the Scouser’s hand, but he pulled away.

“What else is there to talk about?” Stevie asked, tiredly.

“Everything!” Xabi exclaimed. He bit his lip and repeated, “Stevie, please.”

Stevie tried to swallow but his throat felt dry. He knew he’d be trapped in a corner like this. Xabi looked so frustrated, it seemed like he was near tears. And Stevie hated seeing Xabi cry.

“Nothing good can come out of this,” Stevie relented softly.

“Anything’s better than having you ignore me completely,” Xabi replied. He reached out tentatively and gingerly traced the veins on the back of Stevie’s hand. Stevie twitched but he didn’t move.

“You do know that Crouch is probably pressing his ear behind our seats to listen in on us, right?” Stevie asked and Xabi allowed himself a light snicker.

“It’s okay, I guess I’ve lied to you and the team for too long.”

Stevie tensed again.

“I’m sorry I went out with Harry,” Xabi said quietly. He meant to add, ‘I didn’t mean to.’ But he knew he meant to and there he was again with lying. He spluttered it out difficultly, “I just thought – I just thought it would be fun.”

And for once, Stevie couldn’t keep his eerie composure. “Fun?” He spat out, and his face look pained.

Xabi winced but nodded. “I knew it was wrong. And I really, really tried to stop, but I couldn’t. I thought I would never get caught.”

“So you wouldn’t have ended it if I hadn’t caught you?” Stevie asked evenly.

Xabi cast his eyes down.

“And you were planning to play me for a fool for as long as you could?”

“Stevie, that’s not –”

“Yes or no answer, Alonso.”

“Well, if you phrase the question like that –” Xabi tried to protest but he knew it was futile.

“What, do you want me to sugarcoat it for you?” Stevie demanded, his voice getting a notch louder.

Xabi swallowed back a whimper. “I know it sounds stupid, but it was exciting and I just wanted to try fucking it all up.”

“Well, congratulations,” Stevie laughed sardonically. “You pulled it off with a fucking bang.”

“Look, I’m sorry, okay?” Xabi burst out. “I’m sorry I was a greedy, selfish son of a bitch. I’m sorry I liked Harry – and I’m sorry that maybe I still do. I’m sorry I hurt you. But I don’t know what to say anymore. I don’t know how to make things better.”

“You can’t.” Stevie replied. He shifted in his seat and turned back to the window, “I’m done with talking.”

The bus cruised inside the City of Manchester Stadium parking lot after a few tense minutes, the atmosphere cold and silent.

“All right, boys, we’re here,” Rafa announced from the centre of the aisle as the coach came to a stop. The doors opened and he motioned for them to follow him, “Let’s go to the locker rooms.”

One by one the players stood up and trudged out, but Xabi and Stevie stayed behind, both trying to get their acts together before heading to the pre-match meeting.

Finally, taking a deep breath, Xabi stood up and grabbed his bag, making way for Stevie to get out of the seat too. The Scouser ignored him all the while as he pushed his way past, even when their shoulders brushed.

“So, you don’t love me anymore?” Xabi couldn’t help but ask one last question.

Stevie stopped walking down the aisle but didn’t turn around. “I didn’t say that,” he answered in barely a whisper.

“But?”

“But I’ll be damned if I want you back.”

*

_Hi, boys and girls!  
The Oracle, Anfield High’s official publication, is publishing its Mid-Year Awards next issue. Make your voice heard and drop your ballots here!_

_**Best Student** _

_Name: Pepe Reina_  
Year: II  
Best Student: Xabi Alonso 

_Name: Yossi Benayoun (School, take note of the spelling of my name.)_  
Year: II  
Best Student: Xabi Alonso 

_Name: Alvaro Arbeloa_  
Year: II  
Best Student: Xabi Alonso 

_Name: Steve Finnan_  
Year: IV  
Best Student: Xabi Alonso 

_Name: Peter Crouch_  
Year: III  
Best Student: Xabi Alonso 

_Name: Steven Gerrard_  
Year: III  
Best Student: Harry Kewell. I heard he was Xabi’s tutor so he must be good. 

*

Finns entered the Guidance Counselling office and bravely trudged up to the Student Records section. The school was going to take care of filing all their students’ application forms for universities in the US and Finns’ mom hadn’t stopped nagging him about Yale since he was a freshman.

“Excuse me,” Finns cleared his throat and the student assistant stopped rifling through a stack of envelopes to look up at him.

“Well, if it isn’t Steve Finnan,” a wide, sunny smile broke across Harry’s face.

“Harry, hey!” Finns greeted back, “I didn’t know you were a student assistant!”

Harry winked at Finns knowingly, “It looks good on the application form.”

Finns frowned enviously. Harry was just _that_ type. A good student all-around but more importantly, he was practically involved in every other extra-curricular activity in school. When Finns came to that part of his university application forms, he could only write “football team” and nothing else. Sure, football was a big thing here, but they called it bloody “soccer” in America. He doubted Yale’s Molecular Biology and Biochemistry department chairman would appreciate his athletic abilities.

“Where are you applying?” Harry asked, breaking Finns’ train of thought.

“Yale,” Finns grinned sheepishly, handing over his folder. “It’s my parents.”

“Awesome, I applied there too!” Harry exclaimed. Finns found himself smiling back, feeling at ease now. The shivers and the cold sweat he normally associated with college entrance exams were momentarily gone. He watched as Harry rifled through Finns’ folder to check the requirements, a cute furrow appearing on his forehead as he concentrated.

“No offense, Finns,” Harry interrupted, pulling out a neatly typed-out paper from the folder, “But your essay’s crap.”

Finns’ jaw dropped, the warm, happy feeling instantly gone, replaced by a much hateful one. “Excuse me?”

Harry slid the paper across the counter to Finns, “Your essay. It’s crap.”

“Oh, and I’m sure you’ve magically read the entire thing while briefly scanning through my folder,” Finns retorted, taking his essay and rereading it self-consciously. It looked fine to him. He spent weeks writing that and another three days editing it as well, so it was awesome, okay.

“Babe,” Harry said, folding his arms across his chest and raising an eyebrow at Finns, “Yale is getting about, what, 60 or 70,000 application forms for the fall? They’re not going to give a crap about some bleedin’ essay about how your favourite poodle Powder died while crossing the street.”

“Hey, I loved Powder!” Finns argued hotly.

“Too frickin’ bad because Yale’s not going to give a flying fuck about it.” Harry said, snatching the essay from Finns’ hands again and before Finns could react, Harry took a red pen and started marking through the paper.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” Finns demanded, feeling hysterical as his essay was slowly decimated in front of him.

“Editing your paper. Don’t worry, I’m an editor for the school paper. I know what I’m doing,” Harry said, rolling his eyes at the Irishman’s overreaction. He drew arrows by the margin, instructing, “Fix your indentations over here and your margins are too wide. And who the hell still uses Times New Roman at this day and age? ‘Kinell, Finnan, are you retarded? You do want to seriously get into Yale, right?”

Finns didn’t know whether to scream or cry. “Why are you even messing with my application form?”

Harry capped his red pen and threw it on his desk. He pointed to his ID, “Student assistant.” He pointed to Finns, “Ignorant senior who thinks doing well in some indistinct high school in North England means he’s already on top of the world. Get real, Finns. We’re all just big fish in a small pond.”

Finns was getting a migraine. That was it. Maybe it was the grating tone to Harry’s voice or the bright red glow of the ink scrawled all over his immaculate essay. But he wanted to fucking throw a tantrum, stomp out of the office, cut all his afternoon classes and just go home and die.

Harry sighed in annoyance, standing up to meet Finns eye to eye. He placed the essay in the Irishman’s hands and pat Finns’ shoulder. “Go home, make a new essay then pass this back to me. Deadline is Friday.”

“I can’t make another new essay. My brain hurts already,” Finns answered blankly.

“Just lie about some life-changing moment, for crying out loud,” Harry said, getting impatient. He didn’t know being student assistant meant giving up his precious lunch break to deal with blockheads. “And make sure this time you’re writing about actual people, okay?”

Finns scowled at him. Harry remarked, a mocking grin on his lips, “You know, maybe you can write about never getting over your first love? That’s always a big hit. Then you can throw in the killer plot twist about how you were so hung up on him that you decided to seduce him even when he was going out with someone else.”

The scowl on Finns’ face grew deeper and his blood started to boil. Harry continued, “And when you’ve finally them broken up, he _still_ doesn’t want to go out with you and you have to watch him literally grovel for his original love interest to take him back.”

Finns took deep breaths, counted 1 to 10, tried not to think of how infinitely satisfying it would feel to ram his fist against the side of Harry’s face and possibly fatally injuring the Australian forever. He was a bit of a pansy, after all.

“You know, that’s a stirring rendition,” Finns replied. “Are you speaking from personal experience? Because it sounds like it comes from a bitter place. A really bitter place.”

If Harry got annoyed, he didn’t show it. He only handed Finns his folder back and smiled, “We’re just as horrible as each other, Finnan.”

*

“You look happy,” Fernando glanced over at Harry as the Australian entered their room that night.

Harry shrugged nonchalantly, “I just had a good day in school.”

“Really?” The Spaniard grinned, “I thought you’d be cranky cos you spent all night studying. Anything I should know about?”

Harry shook his head, the tiny smile refusing to leave his face. “No, it’s not a big deal, really.”

The Australian joined Fernando by the bathroom sink and watched the striker’s reflection as he shaved off his non-existent facial hair carefully.

“Going out?”

“Yeah, there’s this small party in one of the student bars outside campus,” Fernando said, clinking his razor against the faucet. “My next exam isn’t until a week away, so I’m going out now while I can.”

“Going out with Stevie again?” Harry asked, trying to keep a straight face.

Fernando scowled at him through the mirror. “No, he has Econs finals tomorrow. Stop looking at me that way.”

“Why shouldn’t I look at you that way?” Harry challenged, grinning mischievously. “Might I remind you that you went to Alex Curran’s highly-controversial, strictly-exclusive, very much notorious party with Steven Gerrard and Steven Gerrard alone?”

“None of the other boys in the team were invited,” Fernando pointed out. “I had no choice but to go with Stevie. Besides, I wouldn’t have gone if you hadn’t prodded me into it. You said – and I quote – ‘I refuse to have an uncool roommate.’”

“Yeah, I did say that,” Harry nodded, handing Fernando a towel as the Spaniard washed off the shaving cream from his jaw, “But I didn’t say you should come back home the next morning completely blacked out and drugged up.”

“So I got a little drunk,” Fernando shrugged, but his cheeks were a bright pink.

“And a little high,” Harry added. “Who knows what could’ve happened to you?”

“I doubt anything could have happened to me if Stevie was there.”

“Unless Stevie happened to you,” Harry muttered under his breath.

“Anyway,” Fernando cut off loudly, pushing past Harry to go to his closet. “Tonight’s just a small get-together with students mostly from my batch. It’s not gonna get wild at all. I might even get back here hours before curfew.”

“Wait, excuse me, you lost me at ‘students from my batch.’ You mean,” Harry wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, “Daniel’s going to be there?”

Fernando suddenly started getting into a coughing fit.

“And no Steve Finnan?” Harry continued, giving Fernando’s back a good whack. The Spaniard yelped painfully. “No Steven Gerrard, just you and him and a round of drinks and the stress of hell week you desperately need to work off? Looks like there’ll be something in the air tonight, Fernando.”

“...Did you just quote ABBA?”

“Yes. Do you want me to follow it up with ‘Gimme, gimme, gimme a man after midnight’? That sounds apt too.”

Fernando pat Harry’s shoulder understandingly, “Something tells me you really need to catch up on sleep, Harry.”

*

Sarah’s was this cramped, cheap, even seedy bar a few blocks down from Anfield High. There were no lights on except for the psychedelic lighting by the bar, illuminating rows of bottles of alcohol. They played bad canned music and tonight it was the Pussycat Dolls. The tables and floors were always sticky because of the spilled drinks. The bathroom should never be visited by the faint of heart for a variety of reasons – from the most unhygienic to the most obscene. The drinks were mostly flavoured juice mixes dumped in with cheap vodka or gin, served in plastic pitchers, neon in colour and named funnily like ‘Orange You Glad?’ and ‘Banana Jones and the Temple of Doom.’ It was an absolute pig-sty so naturally, it was the most popular hang-out in the strip.

Daniel immediately stood up from his seat the moment he saw Pepe, Alvaro and Fernando enter the joint. He couldn’t weave in and out of the crowded floor fast enough to get to his Spanish friends.

“Hey, Danny,” Alvaro was the first to greet him.

“I got seats for all of us,” Dan gestured to the far side of the lounge where some slashed chairs were pushed together around a tiny table.

“Great, let’s get to our seats before the people come rushing in,” Pepe said, clapping the Dane on the back and making his way to their place. Alvaro was quick to follow, and Dan shuffled his feet, intentionally delaying until he could take Fernando aside.

“Hey,” Dan said, pursing his lips into a shy smile.

Fernando felt a delicious, gut-wrenching twist in his stomach as he answered a little breathlessly, “Hey.”

“Um,” Dan began, but he couldn’t get himself to say anything else – It’s great to see you. You look really good. I missed you – But they all tangled in his brain and he couldn’t choke them out. Fernando wasn’t any better either because he just stayed there too, his cheeks steadily growing into a bright shade of red. So, really, they were both just standing there with stupid smiles on their faces, glancing furtively at each other.

“I really –” Dan struggled to say in between sheepish grins.

“Excuse me,” A smooth accented voice interrupted them.

 _‘I really...? I really, what?’_ Fernando screamed in his head, but he felt someone take him by the elbow in a gentle effort to get his attention.

“WHAT?” Dan and Fernando exclaimed simultaneously. The stranger almost looked taken aback, but he quickly recovered as flashed a big smile to both of them.

Daniel watched in horror as this, this flamboyant monstrosity glanced at Fernando and asked, “Can I buy you a drink?”

Fernando’s jaw dropped and he looked just as lost as Dan was.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” the long-haired guy stopped, “Are you both together?”

Dan gaped. Then spluttered out, “N-no. No, we’re not.”

“Great,” the stranger threw back his head and laughed, relieved, “I thought I was interrupting something.”

The guy held out his hand, “Sergio,” he told Fernando. The striker dazedly took it, not really sure what had just happened here, “Fernando.”

“And your friend here?” Sergio asked, nodding at Daniel.

“Daniel,” the Dane scowled and crossed his arms over his chest. He eyed Sergio’s fitted white shirt against strong, tanned arms, topped with a precious-looking cardigan wrapped around his broad shoulders. A chunky, gleaming watch sat on his wrist and he smiled this huge, broad, brilliant grin at both of them. Pretty, greasy and oblivious. Daniel hated him with a passion already.

And that was even before Sergio placed an errant hand on the small of Fernando’s back and asked too suavely, “To the bar?”, ushering Fernando away before the striker even had a chance to accept or refuse the offer.

*

“I hope you don’t mind, but I asked Pepe who you were,” Sergio said, pulling out a stool for Fernando. Fernando politely took it as Sergio continued, “I’m Spanish too. Sevillan, actually. I met Pepe a few years back before he moved to Liverpool.”

“Great,” Fernando nodded slowly, unsure of how to continue. He was still unsettled at the fact that he was unceremoniously whisked away from Daniel.

“Pepe was the one who told me you were single and on the look-out.”

“Really,” Fernando continued noncommittally again, before doing a double-take. “Pepe told you WHAT?” Fernando demanded.

He was going to kill Pepe. Or at least, he was going to rough him up and then let Dan kill Pepe. The last time Pepe pulled a trick on them, Dan scored an own goal during training just to piss off the goalkeeper. Sure, Carra almost burst a vein and Rafa went on a ten-minute lecture of proper zonal defense, but Dan and Fernando laughed their heads off after.

But Sergio laughed, cutting off Fernando’s train of thought. The Sevillan’s carefree laughter was slightly infectious, Fernando admitted reluctantly.

“Enough about Pepe. What drink can I get you?” Sergio asked, placing a light touch on Fernando’s arm.

Fernando shrugged and looked away, “I don’t really drink much. I don’t like the taste of alcohol.”

Sergio refused to be deterred. He called over the bartender, ordered a couple of drinks Fernando didn’t hear and in a few minutes, a glass sat in front of Fernando. He eyed the clear, bubbly liquid suspiciously.

“Try it,” Sergio motioned. “If you don’t like it, I promise to leave you alone so you can get back to your friends.”

Fernando mulled it over. It sounded like a decent offer. Taking a cautious sip, he tried the drink and happily found out that it only tasted like Sprite, except with a little tang Fernando couldn’t place.

“See? It’s pretty weak.” Sergio grinned widely, seeing Fernando’s reaction. “You can’t even taste the alcohol, right?”

Fernando smiled back tentatively, “Fine.”

“You won’t even know what’ll hit you,” Sergio said with a poker face. He raised his glass and they clinked theirs together before finally downing their drinks.

*

“So, if this is the employment demand curve,” Stevie murmured to himself, holding out his right hand into a slope, “and this is the employment supply,” he crossed his left hand over, “involuntary employment is over...here.” Having both hands busy, Stevie used his lips to draw an imaginary line between the two curves. He halted abruptly, finding a puny freshman a couple of desks away staring at him aghastly.

Stevie immediately stopped puckering his lips and put down his hands. He growled at the pale, freckly kid who gave a squeal and quickly covered his face with his library book.

Well, great, now Stevie’s lost his place. The Scouser ran his finger over his scrawled notes and read out loud, “Wages don’t respond quickly to unemployment because they are,” he paused and squinted his eyes at his penmanship, “Sticky? ...Wages can be sticky?”

The nasty little gobshite of a freshman stared at him in terror again.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Stevie said, burying his face in his hands. He had a good three chapters to read up on and he didn’t understand anything and the exam was tomorrow. He tried asking Carra to study with him so they could help each other, but his vice-captain just laughed loudly in his face.

“Aren’t you going to revise for tomorrow?” Stevie had demanded.

Carra had just shrugged and said, “Jesus take the wheel, Stevie.”

He slapped his Samuelson book closed and folded his arms over it. Maybe everything would be much clearer after a quick nap. Inside, Stevie was already regretting why he even thought he could finish this in one night. Maybe he should let Jesus take the wheel too.

*

Xabi stood up and stretched. His back ached after bending over his book for so long. It was time for a well-deserved break. He had been studying for two solid hours in the library, his Econs lectures were beginning to muddle together in his head.

Grabbing his wallet, he made for the coffee machine in the second floor lounge. For good measure, he brought his reviewer with him as well, so he’d have something to read just in case the line was long. After all, a huge deluge of students had swamped the library because of finals week.

As he waited in the queue, he let his eyes scan through the place. The usually quiet, deserted lounge was crammed full of students, all the desks were occupied and the group tables were full. In the crowd, however, a familiar slumped figure instantly caught his trained eye. It was a learned instinct, a habit.

Stifling an endeared giggle, Xabi watched as Stevie obviously reciting to himself, trying to learn the macroeconomic graphs through his hand gestures. He chuckled even harder when Stevie got visibly irritated, threw his hands in the air before ruffling his hair in frustration. The front part of his coif already stood in tufts. It could only mean he’s been battling with this subject for a long while now.

Hesitantly taking his glance away from his ex, Xabi headed to the vending machine and punched in an order for two large cups of coffee. Next, he went to the small counter and prepared one cup. He liked his coffee plain, black and strong, but Stevie, Stevie liked his with about a gallon of milk and a bucket of sugar. And Xabi was probably the only one the Scouser trusted to make his coffee the way he liked it.

Finally, he balanced the drinks on a small tray and headed on his way. 

Stevie had now hunched over to sleep. Xabi gingerly balanced the tray on one hand and with the other, gently combed through Stevie’s thick, brown hair to fix it. Sure, there must have been a dozen other, more conventional, less intrusive ways to wake up the Scouser, but that just felt the most natural.

Stevie jolted awake at the foreign contact. He accidentally hit Xabi’s arm, sending the cups teetering dangerously on the tray and the coffee sloshing generously over the brim.

“Oh, shit,” Stevie cursed, half-gathering his bearings, half-embarrassed at the mess he created. Somewhere in between the haziness of sleep and the suddenness of Xabi’s appearance, Stevie was momentarily convinced that they were still together, studying together the way they always did before exams, him drifting off and Xabi being the faithful alarm clock.

“Here,” Stevie said, digging quickly through his pockets for his handkerchief. “It’s clean,” he added, reaching over to help Xabi dab the coffee off the sleeve of his blazer.

“It’s okay,” Xabi replied, grabbing the pile of folded tissues on the tray and helping to wipe up the coffee. They both ignored how their hands clumsily collided with each others as they frantically tried to clean up the spillage before it stained their notes and textbooks.

“Let me take care of that,” Stevie said, standing up to push his books to the chair and the floor so Xabi could set down his things. Stevie also took the spoiled napkins, wrapped them in his crumpled problem set and threw them expertly into a nearby trashcan.

“Sorry,” Xabi said, meticulously piling Stevie’s notebooks and textbooks in order, “I just – I just wanted to get you some coffee.” He took Stevie’s cup and handed it to the Scouser shyly, refusing to meet his gaze. “I made it the way you like it.”

“Thanks,” Stevie mumbled the way he always did when he got embarrassed. “I appreciate it. Really.”

Xabi nodded. Stevie nodded too. For a while, they just stayed there silently nodding to each other in affirmation like a pair of bumbling fools.

“Oh, I also thought that you should have this,” Xabi said, handing Stevie compiled sheets of yellow pad. The Scouser took one look at it – the colour-coded graphs, the neat handwriting, the page-perfect citations – and immediately knew it was the famous Alonso year-end reviewer. Story has it that it was so clear and comprehensive, it could save anyone’s grade.

“I – I can’t.”

“What?” Xabi asked and put on an easy grin, “Come on, take it. You need it more than I do.”

“It’s not that, I just don’t think we should –”

“I would do the same for Carra or Sami,” Xabi shrugged as if this stab at civil conversation was no big deal. He tried to keep a straight tone, “I mean, after all, we’re still seatmates and classmates and teammates...”

 _‘And exes,’_ Stevie wanted to add almost morosely, but instead he just forced a smile in return, “I guess. If you insist.”

“I do,” Xabi replied. “Take it, keep it. And, you know,” he shuffled from foot to foot uneasily, “If you need any help, drop by. I’m just studying downstairs.”

“I probably won’t.” Stevie murmured, fiddling with the sleeve on his coffee cup intently, “But, thanks for offering, Xabs.”

Sure, it was a spurned offer, but it was also a relatively complete, two-sided conversation, and Stevie even called him “Xabs” after a long time. Xabi took what he could. He bid Stevie a quick goodbye – even cheated by unnecessarily letting his hand rest on Stevie’s arm as he walked away – then he went back to his cubicle, feeling even more productive than he had ever felt that night.

*

“Sergio, wait,” Fernando mumbled, weakly trying to push the larger man away.

Sergio brushed aside Fernando’s feeble protests and went back to kissing him. The striker tried to reciprocate. Kissing Sergio was fun, he discovered. And he enjoyed it, really, even with the nagging thoughts at the back of his mind dulled crudely by the alcohol. But right now, the alcohol was also creating the shroud over his brain, shutting it off slowly.

“I feel sleepy,” Fernando attempted to interrupt in between kisses. He spoke laboriously, his eyes already drifting shut, an uncontrollable senseless giggle escaping from his lips.

“Just ignore it,” Sergio said dismissively, bending down again to lick along the underside of Fernando’s jaw. The striker mewled softly in encouragement. Smiling against his pale, freckled skin, Sergio continued his journey down Fernando’s neck. He heard a vague sigh of contentment above him, but a few minutes after, it was just silence.

Confused, Sergio straightened up and to his shock, Fernando was sleeping peacefully, propped up on the lumpy cushions of the couch.

“Fucking hell,” Sergio cursed, trying to shake the striker awake but to no avail.

“Fine,” the Sevillan muttered. He told himself he would get lucky tonight anyway. He made a move to peel Fernando’s jacket off his shoulders, but it wasn’t easy given the older man’s dead weight.

“What the fuck are you doing?” A shout came from behind him, ringing clear over the blaring beats of ‘Dontcha.’

Sergio whirled his head around, eyes wide like deer in the headlights.

“You bloody perv, are you copping a feel while he’s out?” Dan demanded, pushing past Sergio to zip up Fernando’s jacket again.

“He’s not out,” Sergio exclaimed, but his voice was pitchy and unconvincing. “He’s just... closing his eyes.”

“Right.” Dan bit back sarcastically, hoisting Fernando up, slinging an arm around his shoulders and another on his waist. “You couldn’t come up with better excuses?”

“Where are you taking him?”

“Back to his dorm before he throws up all over the place,” Dan said, struggling to his feet.

“We barely even finished a round!” Sergio tried to explain, pointing at the half-full pitcher and unused shot glasses.

“Well, he’s a pansy,” Dan said, throwing the Sevillan one last sweet, saccharine smile before hobbling away.

*

“Fernando, come on, the cab’s here,” Dan said, gently shaking awake the Spaniard leaning on his shoulder.

The striker could barely get his eyes open as he protested, “No, I want to stay right here.”

Dan tried to walk to the curb where their hailed taxi was waiting. “Come on, we can’t stay on the taxi queue all night.”

“Stop moving, Danny,” Fernando whined painfully, tightening his clutch around the sleeves of Dan’s shirt. Dan stopped to think over his options, but it wasn’t easy. It was never easy with Fernando wrapped tightly around you like that.

Sighing, Dan forcefully dragged Fernando to the cab and flung him into the backseat as quickly as he could, ignoring Fernando’s protests of “just let me fucking sleep, Danny!”

“Where we headed, lads?” The driver looked at them through the rearview mirror as Dan finally got to climb inside the vehicle. Whatever Dan was going to reply, however, completely blanked in his mind as Fernando crawled over to Dan’s side of the backseat, laid out and placed his head on Dan’s lap.

“Oy!” The cab driver called their attention, asking again. “Where we off to?”

“The Anfield High Residence Hall please,” Dan said, trying to get his mind out of the Fernando-shaped gutter.

“We can’t,” Fernando mumbled dizzily from his curled-up position on Dan’s lap. “Curfew.”

Dan checked his watch and it was half an hour past midnight already. “Shit.”

“Well?” The driver asked impatiently, the metre ticking.

Dan looked down at the Spaniard to ask him where else they could go, but Fernando had already drifted back to sleep. Accepting the fateful coincidence with more than open arms, Dan gave the driver his address instead.

*

Fernando’s eyes fluttered open with much effort. He wasn’t in that dingy couch in Sarah’s pub anymore, that was for sure. Nor was he in the bumpy taxi ride either. He looked around gingerly, his head still weighing heavily upon his shoulders.

“I hope you don’t mind that I had to undress you,” Dan spoke up from the far side of the room. Fernando’s head whirled around to face him and he groaned almost immediately at the sudden movement. Dan continued, folding Fernando’s clothes and carefully placing them on the dresser, “Your clothes stank and my mum would kill me if I soiled the sheets.”

“No problem,” Fernando croaked, his tongue feeling slack and dry.

Dan laughed and headed over, “Here.”

He raised a glass of water and a can of Coke. ““Water will keep you from getting dehydrated and will slightly help with your hangover tomorrow – later. But, Coke will make you throw up, but you’ll feel better right after.” Fernando’s face scrunched up in disgust. Dan grinned, “Your choice.”

Fernando didn’t even bat an eyelash as he held his hand out for the water. Dan shrugged and popped open the can of Coke and drank it for himself.

“I don’t understand,” Fernando said, his throat feeling better after gulps of cold water, “I only had three or four glasses. When I take beer, I can take an entire round before getting wasted.”

“Nando, beer only has 4 to 7% alcohol. You were drinking gin. You may hardly taste it, but that’s like drinking pure alcohol. Of course you were out for the count.”

“Oh.” Dan laughed as Fernando blushed, “Sorry?”

“That’s what you get for going out with seedy strangers,” Dan winked.

Fernando’s jaw dropped, “Sergio wasn’t seedy!”

“He wore a pastel cardigan and looked like he plucks his eyebrows.” Dan deadpanned.

“So?” Fernando asked back, trying to keep a straight face, but they both burst into chuckles not soon after.

“Anyway,” Dan said, after they quieted down again, “You should get some sleep.”

“Where are you sleeping?”

“My bean bag’s pretty comfortable.”

Fernando shook his head adamantly, “That’s crazy. I’m sure we can both fit in bed.”

Dan smiled and brought his covers up to Fernando’s chin. “I’m fine on the floor, babe.”

Fernando tried to look past the casually dropped term of endearment as he protested, “Dan, I’ve already caused too much hassle.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Dan winked, patting Fernando’s shoulder, “This isn’t the first time you’ve made me work hard to get any.”

Fernando blushed a deep red as Dan settled down on the floor with an extra blanket, plumping up the bean bag under him. He reached up to flick off the lights and soon, the entire bedroom was plunged into darkness.

“I can join you on the floor, you know. Just so it’s fair,” Fernando tried again.

“Shut it, Torres,” Dan laughed, feeling wonderfully at ease for the first time in a long time. “Besides, you look good in my bed.”

“...What?” Fernando retorted from the bed, sounding half-amused and half-mystified.

“Okay, I didn’t mean that in a really perverse kind of way,” Dan hurriedly explained, gesturing wildly in the darkness. “I just meant that you, you look like you belong there. Like, you fit and you should probably stay over more often and –”

“Something tells me you should shut up before you ruin this moment.”

“Okay. Right, right. No problem. I’ll keep quiet now.”

“You’re babbling, Agger.”

“Well, now you’ve made me nervous!”

“Good night, Danny.”

*

_Hi, boys and girls!  
The Oracle, Anfield High’s official publication, is publishing its Mid-Year Awards next issue. Make your voice heard and drop your ballots here!_

_Best Couple_

_Name: Steven Gerrard_  
Year: III  
Best Couple: Xabi Alonso and Harry Kewell 

_Name: Harry Kewell_  
Year: IV  
Best Couple: Xabi Alonso and Harry Kewell 

_Name: Xabi Alonso_  
Year: III  
Best Couple: Xabi Alonso and Steven Gerrard 

_Name: Jamie Carragher_  
Year: III  
Best Couple: This is a stupid question. 

_Name: Daniel Agger_  
Year: II  
Best Couple: Daniel Agger and Fernando Torres 

_Name: Steve Finnan_  
Year: IV  
Best Couple: Daniel Agger and Steve Finnan 

_Name: Fernando Torres_  
Year: II  
Best Couple: Daniel Agger and ~~Steve Finnan~~ Fernando Torres 


	13. The man who can't be moved

“I can’t believe everyone’s out getting piss drunk to celebrate the end of finals week while we’re stuck here in the gym,” Riise said, grunting as he lifted the weights one more time. “I love football and all, but all the training, the pre- and post-match meetings, the weekend strategy discussions, the pressure from the school to win the title... it’s just making me tired of it.”

“Oh, shush it,” Carra said, throwing his dirty gym towel in the Norwegian’s direction, “You’ve been like this ever since Luis left.”

“What the bloody hell would Luis have to do with it?” Riise asked, cheeks red and not just from his weightlifting.

“Oh, you want us to tell you?” Stevie challenged.

“Who’s Luis?” Yossi piped up, blinking innocently.

“Ginger has a point, you know.” Alvaro interrupted, “Sometimes I wish I could just play the game for fun.” He groaned and kicked the side of the treadmill to get it to work. Pepe sighed loudly and plugged the machine and it instantly jumped to life.

Penns added, “Like, if football was my girlfriend, we’d need to take a time out.”

“If football was my girlfriend, we’d have to go out with other people.” Babel piped up.

“If football was my girlfriend,” Dan paused thoughtfully then smirked, “Well, I don’t know how that happened.”

The boys roared laughing.

“But, Dan,” Riise interrupted with a wicked smile on his face, “What’s this rumour I hear that you and a certain Spaniard went home together after the party at Sarah’s?”

Dan’s arrogant grin was immediately replaced with the bright blush on his cheeks. “Fernando just got a bit drunk and I took him in so he could have some place to stay,” he mumbled inaudibly, suddenly utterly fascinated with stretching his calves. No one understood what he said but they didn’t need to. Everyone had been talking about it in the hallways and dressing rooms anyway.

“Why didn’t you bring him back to his dorm?” Stevie teased.

“It was already past curfew and he didn’t have an excuse slip,” Dan protested.

“And he couldn’t go home with Pepe? Or Alvaro?”

“They were wasted too!”

“We were not!” Pepe defended but nobody believed him.

“Why did you go through all the trouble to begin with? Fernando’s a big boy.”

“I would have done the same for all of you!”

“You didn’t do it for me,” Alvaro butted in, looking hurt.

“So, Agger, If Carra had gotten drunk out of his mind, you would have done the same for him?”

Dan tried not to crinkle his nose. Carra was loud when he was sober, he was unacceptably deafening with the slightest drop of alcohol. But he steeled himself and nodded vigorously anyway, “Of course I would.”

Penns laughed, “Really? You would have taken care of Carra, hauled him into a cab, nursed him back to health and let him share your bed?”

Dan’s jaw dropped. Sure, Carra was a good friend, but surely no one expected him to let the Scouser –

“‘Share your bed’?” Alvaro demanded, wide-eyed. “Fernando slept in your bed?”

Dan tried to shrug off the question and feign nonchalance, stifling the sickening giddy flutter in his stomach. “Well, he had to sleep somewhere.”

The team in the gym hooted noisily.

“So, how far did you get to go?” Penns elbowed Dan on the side and winked saucily.

“...I slept on the floor, Penns.”

“Oh, you’re too nice, Agger.”

“Too weak, more like,” Carra joined the fray for the first time, finally abandoning his I’m-too-good-for-this-gossip stance. “I’m so disappointed in you.”

“What?” Dan’s eyes practically bulged out as he yelped, “I couldn’t rush things. It’s already awkward enough as it is.”

“Fucking pussy!”

The clattering sound of the gym door being pushed open cut off their altercation. The boys who had gone biking around campus had returned and Rafa filed in with Xabi, Javier, Sami, Crouch and Fernando walked in.

“Well, speak of the devil,” Penns heckled and Dan shot him a murderous glare.

“Are you thirsty, Fernando?” Carra hollered, his face screwed up tightly from stifling a huge guffaw, “I’m sure Dan can get you something. He’s a very helpful person.”

Fernando raised his eyebrows in confusion, not understanding what the ruckus was about.

From the water cooler, Yossi raised his scrawny hand and waved it enthusiastically in the air, “I can get you a drink, Nando.”

“Let Dan do it, Yossi,” Riise rolled his eyes.

“Shut the fuck up, you guys.”

“Oh, or on second thought, maybe you should do it, Yossi,” Penns said, scratching his chin thoughtfully, “I mean, if Dan couldn’t even reach the bed from his bedroom floor – OOF!”

Dan threw himself at Penns in an amazing flying tackle, even Rafa did a double-take.

“Why, Daniel, that was the tackle I wanted to see in training yesterday!” Rafa said, smiling gleefully.

“I keep telling you, boys, you know my idea,” Rafa continued into an impromptu lecture, “There are things we can explain and explain, but you will never know them until you do it. It’s like, like...”

“Like... Algebra?” Stevie offered.

“Or ...love?”

“Yeah, I’m sure Dan can attest to that,” Penns said cheekily from his sprawled position on the floor. “He loves like he tackles. Reckless. Painful. And always too late.”

“Oh, burn,” even Stevie had to say in between peals of laughter.

“I’ll show you how I tackle, you shit-faced scumbag,” Dan growled, kicking Penns on the shin again, “I’m gonna fucking break your leg in training tomorrow!”

“Tsk, Daniel, there’s no need for that kind of language.”

“But, Rafa!”

“Anyway, quiet down, boys,” Rafa shouted over Daniel’s indignant protests, Pennant’s exaggerated groans of pain and the team’s general chatter. “I want to announce the team I’m bringing to London for this Saturday’s game against Arsenal.”

And just like that the noise disappeared and everyone leaned in anxiously. Not only was the Arsenal game tipped to be one of the clashes of the season, it was also an away match, meaning whoever got a slot in the team got to travel to London for the weekend.

Rafa cleared his throat and flipped his notebook open. “Pepe Reina.”

“Duh.” Someone muttered under his breath. Dan had a hunch it was Itandje. He knew Charles was really quiet but if you had no starts in your entire high school career because of one man, well, Dan was willing to bet the Frenchman had a lot of pent-up angst.

“Charles Itandje, Alvaro Arbeloa, Jamie Carragher, Sami Hyypia, Daniel Agger, John Arne Riise,” Rafa ticked off the names one by one, “Javier Mascherano, Xabi Alonso, Steven Gerrard.”

Xabi bit back a smile. He liked the way their names always came after each other’s.

“Dirk Kuyt, Yossi Benayoun, Ryan Babel, Fernando Torres and Peter Crouch,” Rafa finished. “I’ll announce who gets to start and who the subs are when we get to London.”

There was a ripple of excited murmurs at the sound of their destination. The manager smiled anxiously, “Before we finish training, I want to fix a few details about our trip, no?

“We will leave campus, Friday at noon, so naturally, you will all be excused from your afternoon classes,” – a premature whoop from Carra – “And our flight back is at Sunday, noon as well.

“And when we get in the hotel, there will be no excursions without my permission. Curfew is at 9 PM, sharp.”

Penns groaned.

“Yes, Jermaine, there will be no partying outside, is that understood?”

Penns nodded earnestly, a sure sign he meant the exact opposite.

“Please behave yourselves, lads. This is still a school activity. Any offence will be dealt with accordingly,” Rafa reminded, having witnessed too many out-of-town trips with the boys, “No smoking, no drinking, no illegal substances, no criminal behaviour, no fornication, no throwing television sets out the window, no purchasing of adult pay TV. The school refuses to foot the bill for Jungle Juice XXX again.”

“That wasn’t me!” Penns spoke up defensively.

“Shut up, Penns. It was your room number on the bill,” Carra sniped.

“How do you know it wasn’t Stevie? He was my roommate.”

“Because he was in Xabi’s room that night, duh.” Pepe retorted loudly, and he meant for it to be matter-of-fact because, really, that was public knowledge in the squad. But. Well. Things change. And Pepe was slow on the uptake.

Xabi’s cheeks burned a bright red.

“Great.” Stevie remarked loudly. “Thanks.”

“Wha – Oh. _Ooohh._ ”

Anyway, Rafa was oblivious to what this all really meant. But he intervened in it anyway, “Well, if you’re all going to switch rooms when I’m not looking, we might as well make room assignments voluntary.” He turned a fresh page in his notebook, seemingly pleased with his bright idea, “And since Pepe says Stevie and Xabi like rooming together, we can assign you both for Room 1.”

No one missed the way Xabi hid behind Crouch in embarrassment. Or the way Stevie’s head whipped around to glare murderously at Pepe.

“Now we just need one more person for Room 1. Three people to a room,” Rafa explained, looking around for volunteers.

Xabi went through his teammates, trying to look for someone he could bribe over the weekend to take long trips out so Stevie and him could have a bit of privacy. Maybe then they would finally get to talk sensibly. Maybe they would even get back together too. In London, nonetheless.

That would be really romantic.

“Oh, Jamie, are you raising your hand? Alright, Alonso, Gerrard and Carragher in Room 1 then.”

Or maybe not.

“Room 2, anyone?”

The team buzzed with noise again right after the entire painful and awkward scenario unfolded.

“Arbeloa, Reina, Mascherano!” Pepe hollered just about the same time everyone else yelled out their desired roommates.

“Riise, Crouch, Kuyt!”

“Hey, we were going to take Dirk!”

“Aww, shucks, guys. There’s enough Dirk for everyone.”

“Okay, you guys can take him.”

“Pepe, you abandoned me!” Fernando accused, feeling slightly intimidated that everyone had already started grouping together.

“Oh, Rafa, I’ll room with Fernando!” Sami volunteered loudly to Rafa frantically noting down the names. He winked at the striker knowingly.

Fernando smiled at him gratefully, until Sami did this completely unbelievable gasp of surprise, “Oh, hey, Daniel, room with us too!”

Daniel’s jaw dropped. Maybe he would feel thankful to the Finn later but right now, he just wanted to crawl to the locker room and die.

But Sami was undeterred. He slung an arm around the two aghast, freckled lads and smiled at them both overenthusiastically. “Isn’t this just so fun?”

Dan and Fernando exchanged sheepish glances. The Spaniard immediately looked away, biting back a smile.

“You’re a diabolical genius,” Dan muttered to the Finn as they all resumed their previous exercise regimes.

Sami dusted his hands off effortlessly, “But a genius nonetheless.”

“This feels like a social experiment,” Dan remarked as he climbed on the treadmill again.

Carra cut in from the next treadmill. “You say social experiment, I say fucking soap opera waiting to happen.”

“I know!” Sami grinned excitedly. “Don’t you just love our school?”

*

“Let me get this straight,” Harry said, “You’re going to London. With Daniel.”

“And the rest of the squad. And Rafa. It’s hardly a weekend getaway.” Fernando answered, rolling his eyes. He dumped two more pairs of his training shorts in his duffel bag. Harry sighed in irritation and took out the clothes, obsessively folding them carefully and laying them inside the bag in orderly lines.

“Uh-huh,” Harry mused, unconvinced.

“I’m not going to have sex with Daniel. Sami will be in the room with us!” Fernando defended adamantly, his cheeks turning a shade of pink.

“So? Do it in the lift,” Harry replied nonchalantly, still busy with rearranging Fernando’s things in his bag.

“There are security cameras on elevators.”

“...And your point is?”

“Harry!”

“Oh, right. You’re telling me if Dan climbs into your bed in the dead of the night when Sami’s asleep and he spoons right up against you” – Fernando ignored the delicious tingle down his spine – “you’re going to ignore him and lay there like a log?”

The striker averted the question with an indignant look on his face. “Do you think I’m that easy?”

Harry blinked innocently up at Fernando.

“Fuck you, Kewell.”

“I love it when you talk dirty, Torres.”

Fernando zipped his duffel bag close with a little too much force. “I’ll be so glad to get away from you this weekend.”

“Away from me and off to Agger. I knew it.”

“Aren’t you the least bit supportive about the match against Arsenal? Aren’t you supposed to be the sports editor of the paper?” The striker scowled. “You know, wish me luck, give me tips or whatever.”

“Good luck,” Harry replied in a dull monotone. Before a mischievous grin spread on his tanned face, “Whatever happens, make sure you’re protected.”

Fernando crawled on his bed tiredly and replied, “And if you sleep with someone while I’m gone, please don’t do it on my bed.”

Harry climbed under his sheets as well and reached out to switch off the bedside lamp. “I packed you condoms and lube. I stuffed it in one of your socks.”

The Australian half-expected for Fernando to get into another needlessly defensive tirade of his non-lust for a certain Danish defender. But Fernando asked sleepily instead, “Harry, do you think we would ever have become friends if we didn’t have sex to talk about?”

Harry smiled in the darkness of their shared dorm room as he thought about it.

“Nah.”

*

Well, fuck. It’s him again.

Finns briefly considered just postponing the submission of his college application forms until someone else was at the Student Assistant desk. But the deadline was tomorrow and Finns was getting even more neurotic every time he saw the Yale envelope ensconced in his locker. So he steeled himself and told himself he could handle Harry Kewell no problem.

“Here,” Finns said curtly, dropping his files on Harry’s desk.

Harry opened the folder, stamped it with the school seal, then put it on a neat pile of application forms. “Done.”

Finns blinked. “...What? That’s it?”

“What?” Harry asked, lazily raising his eyebrows.

“No ceremonial burning of my horrible essay? No annoying remarks? No mockery?”

“I already made fun of Fernando’s hair this morning. I’ve completed my meanness quota for today,” Harry retorted dryly.

“But surely you love exceeding expectations,” Finns supplied expectantly.

Harry ran his hand over his face impatiently. He’s had about an average of two hours of sleep per day this finals week, what was this fucking clod trying to get at now?

“Is there anything else you need?” Harry asked directly, cutting to the chase.

Finns froze. Well, obviously, the snarky bastard wasn’t up for some playful banter this week. Which was slightly disappointing because, as Finns grudgingly admitted to himself, fighting with Harry was kind of fun. Not that he liked Harry or anything. He hated him still. But he had fun hating him.

“Finns?” Harry said loudly, interrupting the Irishman’s train of thought.

“W-what?”

“Do you need anything else?” Harry asked again, seeming exasperated.

“Oh. Nothing, nothing.”

Harry stifled a yawn. “You can leave then.”

Finns scowled. Fine, if Harry didn’t want to talk, he was fine with that. It’s not like he _really_ gave a damn anyway.

“The door’s that way,” Harry added, smiling sarcastically at the defender. “Just in case you forgot.”

Finns rolled his hands into fists and stomped off. Now he really hated that bastard with a passion.

“Hey, Finns, wait!” Harry suddenly called out and the Irishman weighed whether or not he should even acknowledge him. But he really didn’t have a choice because Harry stood up from his desk and went after him, tapping him on the shoulder lightly.

“What?” Finns snapped.

“I thought the team was going down to London today. Why are you still here?” Harry asked.

Finns’ glare darkened even more. “I didn’t get selected.”

“Oh.” Harry said, an unreadable expression on his face. “Not even as a sub?”

“What’s your point?” Finns cut off lividly.

Harry’s jaw dropped a little before he made a visible attempt to be more genial. “Nothing. I just thought – I just thought you should have started. Arbeloa’s such a spaz.”

The Irishman’s eyebrows raised so high, they almost disappeared into his hairline. “Oh. Okay,” he mumbled out. Harry smiled at him and gave him a pat on the shoulder before turning on his heel and returning to the Student Assistant’s desk where a lost freshman was already waiting.

Finns smiled to himself as he made his way out of the office. Now, that wasn’t bad.

*

“Guess where I’m calling from?” An excited voice tittered over the phone.

“Yossi – ”

“From the bathroom!” The Israeli exploded with unbridled joy. “Get it, Nando? There’s a phone in the bathroom!”

“Oh, wow.” the striker tried to sound just as enthusiastic, “That’s great, Yossi!”

Daniel came out of the shower in time to see the Spaniard sprawled tiredly on the bed, one hand holding the phone to his ear, the other smothering his face with a pillow.

Heart pounding in his chest, Dan casually perched on the end of Fernando’s bed and tapped the striker’s thigh as innocently as he could. He chuckled to himself to hide his nervousness and asked, “What’s Yossi up to now?”

Fernando removed the pillow from his face and looked up at Danny. He covered the mouthpiece with a hand and scowled, “He’s discovered the bathroom and he’s asking what a bidet is.”

“It’s what you use to wash your ass, Yossi!” Dan yelled loudly to be heard over the other end of the line. Fernando cracked up then stared at the phone suddenly. “He dropped the phone!” Fernando said with wide eyes.

Dan burst out laughing too, but Fernando scolded with mock seriousness, “You’ve scarred him forever, Danny!”

The defender’s peals of laughter quickly subsided into a soft smile.

“What?” Fernando asked self-consciously.

“Nothing, it’s – it’s corny,” Dan waved off the dismissal and made to stand up from the bed but Fernando quickly bolted up into a sitting position, “Wait!”

Dan froze and fell back on his spot on the bed. Fernando blushed at his obviousness and tried to divert the topic.

“Tell me,” he nagged and put on his best disappointed pout. That always worked.

“Cheater,” Dan grumbled, knowing that look. But he relented nonetheless. “It’s just that – you called me Danny again.”

“I call you Danny!” Fernando defended, flopping back against his pillows.

“Only when you like me,” Dan pointed out. Avoiding the scrutinizing gaze, Fernando trained his eyes on a loose thread on the old Brondby kit the defender was using as a pajama top.

“I like you,” Fernando protested again, but more self-consciously now.

Dan raised an eyebrow. Fernando bit his lip and rambled helplessly, “Well, I like you – when you’re not an ass. Sometimes. Or most of the time. I... think.”

“You’re so...”

“Articulate?” Fernando suggested.

“...Cute.” Dan finished.

“That’s not very articulate either.”

Dan cracked a crooked grin and Fernando secretly thought that was really cute too.

“You should take a bath before you fall asleep there,” Dan said, standing up. He took Fernando’s wrists and tried to yank him up with him.

Fernando groaned and resisted petulantly. “I like my bed, it’s soft.”

“You were on the National Express for five hours. You smell,” Dan hit back, tugging at Fernando harder. Fernando let his jaw drop and scowled exaggeratedly, “See what I mean about you being an ass?”

Dan let go of Fernando’s arms, sending the Spaniard sprawling back on the mattress. He immediately rounded the bed and took hold of Fernando’s ankles, trying to pull him off.

“Daniel!” Fernando screamed laughing, caught unaware as he slid down the bed with his legs in the air. He tried to thrash about but Dan expertly held his calves securely against his sides and gave another strong tug again. Fernando grunted and tried to dig his elbows in the bed to anchor himself.

“Fernando,” Dan stopped briefly. “We can do this the easy way or the hard way.”

“Bring it,” Fernando challenged with a proud smirk.

“Oh, don’t make me come up there,” Dan answered. He gave Fernando’s calves a strong squeeze, “I could manhandle you.”

“Psh,” Fernando didn’t even flinch. “I could take you on.”

Then, the door swung open and Sami walked in. The Finn stopped in his tracks. Stared at Fernando on the bed with his dishevelled hair and his shirt riding up his torso and his legs _around Daniel’s waist._ His bed was a mess and Daniel stood above the Spaniard and Sami was sure he heard some grunting and groaning before he entered the room.

“Oh. Oh, shit.” Sami finally managed to blubber something out.

“No, Sami,” Fernando’s eyes went wide in realization. He insisted, “We weren’t – we weren’t up to anything.”

Dan retorted dryly, “Yeah, Sami, I was just trying to get Torres to take a bath.”

Sami looked pointedly at their positions.

“By wrestling,” Dan supplied. The Finn did not look convinced. At all.

“Maybe we should have a secret code,” Sami proposed diplomatically. “Like, hang a necktie around the doorknob to warn me when it’s sexytimes.”

“Sexytimes?” Fernando echoed in disbelief, feeling his face completely burn up in humiliation.

“Oh, no, don’t get me wrong,” Sami let out a slight laugh, calming down. “I _want_ you guys to have sexytimes! I just want you guys to tell me when so I don’t walk in on you.”

The two kids stared at him aghast. Sami explained himself hurriedly, “I mean, not because like, I’m disgusted by the two of you having sex, I don’t care if I see it. I just, don’t want to see it. So you both don’t get interrupted and you can finish everything you need – or want – er, to do.”

“Right.” Dan answered hollowly because, well, holy hell, that was awkward.

“I’m taking a bath,” Fernando announced, untangling himself from Daniel and loping off to the bathroom. When the bathroom door closed, Sami broke into a mischievous grin.

“Daniel, you minx.”

“We were not. Having. Sex.” Dan emphasized strongly.

“Yeah, but, will you? This weekend?”

“WHAT?” Dan exploded, the vein on his forehead throbbing now.

“You know. You may not have been having sexytimes now. But do you want to?” Sami nagged, eyes twinkling.

“Sami, when you call it ‘sexytimes,’ that’s just a sure-fire way of losing your hard-on,” Dan deadpanned.

“You’re not answering the question,” Sami teased.

“Well, of course I bloody wanna sleep with him!”

“Well, why haven’t you?” Sami hit back.

“Because! He’s so – he’s so...”

“Fuckers, I can hear the both of you, you know!” Fernando yelled from the bathroom.

Sami and Dan stared at each other in surprise. The Dane’s cheeks burned a bright red but Sami just started doubling over laughing. Dan growled and pushed him away, “I’m going out for a smoke. I can’t handle this.”

“Did you hear that, Fernando?” Sami called out, still chuckling. “Dan’s leaving you! Again!”

Sami and Dan clearly heard the showers being switched off for a moment before, “Fuck you, Sami!” Fernando shouted from the bath.

Sami doubled over laughing again.

*

Finns had never seen the school’s front doors closed, but he approached it anyway. He gave the doorknob a slight twist – it was locked. Pursing his lips patiently, he gave it another slight jiggle. Maybe the lock just caught or it was rusty or something.

It still didn’t give way.

Cursing to himself now, he braced two hands on the handle and pulled with all his might, straining until his arms ached.

This was the sight that greeted Harry as he was just about to finish his morning jog around the campus. He slowed to a stop by the entrance where the Irishman was still concentrating on wrestling with the door. Harry even blinked several times to make sure he wasn’t imagining things. Finally, he gave up on wondering and just approached Finns.

“What are you doing?”

The Irishman whirled around all of a sudden as if he were electrocuted. Clutching his heart, Finns angrily exclaimed, “Jesus Christ, don’t scare me like that!”

“Are you trying to break into the school?” Harry chuckled.

“No. The doors were locked and I was just trying to” – the Australian arched an eyebrow and Finns sighed – “break into the school.”

“It’s a Saturday. Of course the school’s closed. Or are you a lot less smarter than I gave you credit for?” Harry smirked.

Finns scowled, “No, I heard from my friend that they held the extra-curricular activities on Saturday, and I thought I could drop by. You know, possibly even join a new organization or something.”

“The org fair isn’t until 1 PM.” Harry replied before raising his eyebrow again, but this time in confusion, “And you’re already in the football team. Why would you need another group?”

Finns shrugged defensively, “Looks good on the college application forms.”

Harry nodded slowly but made no mention of the defender’s snubbing for the Arsenal game.

“Well, what are you doing here?” Finns asked, quickly diverting the conversation.

Harry used the back of his palm to wipe the sweat from his forehead, “I jog here every morning.”

“You jog in campus?” Finns asked sceptically.

“I live in the dorms, genius,” Harry shot back.

“Oh, right. I forget. How could I? Your dorm room was probably the centre of the Stevie-Xabi love saga.”

Harry’s forehead crinkled and his frown deepened. Dealing with the Irishman was trickier than most. He was a prick in the making and he didn’t even try. Now he really knew Finns was Daniel’s best friend. He reckoned the Dane’s crabbiness was contagious. He could only hope Fernando wouldn’t catch it while they roomed together in London. That boy was a brat enough as it was.

Sensing Harry’s silence at the remark he let slip, Finns sighed. “I guess I should go back home then. This was a mistake,” Finns mumbled, looking down on the floor, frustrated with himself.

Harry hesitated but he let the offer fall from his lips anyway, “It’s almost eleven anyway. Do you want to catch brunch? Then we can go to the org exhibit later together.”

Finns stared at him blankly for a second. “Why?”

“Because you look like a miserable bastard,” Harry answered frankly. Revenge was sweet.

The corner of the Irishman’s mouth twitched upwards, “Okay, maybe I deserved that.”

“But seriously, come on,” Harry prodded sincerely.

“Well, I guess,” Finns replied unsurely, shuffling his feet. “It’s not like I have anyone else to hang out with anyway.”

“Great,” Harry said, quickly spinning on his heel and gracefully darting down the main steps of the school. Finns scampered after him to catch up, and soon they were striding side-by-side. “Do you mind if we drop by my dorm first? Let me take a fast shower then we can go grab a bite.”

Finns nodded, “Sure.”

“And no more quips about Xabi,” Harry said, raising a warning finger as they walked through the cobblestone paths between old buildings.

Finns tried to stifle a devilish grin but largely failed. “How about, for every Xabi quip I give, you get a Daniel remark you can throw back?”

“Why would I tease you about Daniel? I thought you said you were over him.”

“Well, are you really over Xabi?”

“Yes!”

“Wholly, completely, absol-fucking-lutely?” Finns challenged.

Harry kicked a pebble in the defender’s direction. “Fine. Deal.”

*

Xabi coughed softly, but Stevie didn’t look up from his laptop. Xabi tapped his foot impatiently. He knew it was a golden window of opportunity when the manager called Carra in for a meeting, but the defender was going to be back soon.

“What are you doing?” Xabi tried again, trying to sound friendly.

Stevie continued clacking away at the keyboard and answered curtly. “Homework.”

“Oh, really? For what class?” Xabi pushed the topic.

“French.”

“Do you need help?”

“No.”

“Are you taking a break soon?” Xabi offered brightly, “Maybe we can –”

“No,” Stevie interrupted coldly.

“Wow,” Xabi covered his embarrassment with a forced laugh. “What’s with the one-word replies?”

Stevie looked up for the first time. “Fuck. Off.” He enunciated clearly, steely, before he broke into a sarcastic smile, “Happy?”

Xabi was bewildered to say the least. He never heard Stevie talk like that. Not to him, at least. But he tried again, though smile was tight, “Stevie, I thought things were okay between us already.”

“We talked once,” Stevie argued icily, hitting the keys with much more force than usual. “You thought you could give me coffee and your reviewer and everything would be fine and dandy?”

“No,” Xabi stammered, “But I at least thought our last conversation was more than that.”

“We could have had the most earth-shattering conversation. Does it change anything?” Stevie asked, stonily staring at his ex and waiting for an answer.

“When are you going to get over the fact that I slept with Harry Kewell?” Xabi threw his hands out in the air.

“Oh, wow, jeez, I’m sorry I can’t keep up with your schedule!” Stevie’s voice started to get louder.

“Well, then, just tell me what you want me to do so I can fix this!”

“And since when did it ever become about what I wanted?” Stevie retorted bitterly.

“What?”

“It’s always been about what you want, hasn’t it?” The Scouser accused, slamming the laptop closed loudly, “You wanted us to be together, you got tired of it. You wanted to try something new, you did. You wanted to let Harry Kewell fuck you, you spread your legs and took him in. And now, for whatever reason, you want us back together and I should magically just drop whatever grudges I have. You never stop, do you?”

Xabi stood there with his jaw hanging and his head fuming. “Of course I care about what you want!” He shot back lividly.

“Well, I didn’t ask you to come back,” Stevie deadpanned.

“Stevie, I –”

Stevie tossed his laptop down on the bedspread and jumped up on his feet to meet Xabi eye-to-eye. “Xabi, stop begging. Please. You’re not going to get anything out of it.” He looked at the Spaniard up and down and Xabi thought he could see a sneer playing on those lips as Stevie finished, “Not to mention, you’re beginning to look pathetic.”

Xabi was left completely speechless. Stevie pushed past him and stormed out the door – nearly barrelling over the entering Carra.

“Wow,” Carra whistled incredulously, “To think I was only gone for 15 minutes.”

But Xabi had crumpled down on the carpeted floor and leaned his head on his bed, too taken aback to listen to the Scouser.

Carra took one look at the distraught Spaniard and hesitated to come closer. Not because he was on Stevie’s side but because he was always bad at these things. Tentatively, he approached his own bed and sat at the side, facing Xabi.

“Y’alright, la?” Carra asked in one big nervous whoosh.

Xabi looked up, his eyes searching. “I just don’t understand why he won’t let me fix things.”

“He has let you fix things,” Carra replied in a mumbling yet gentle tone. Xabi bit his lip and stubbornly shook his head.

The defender played with the bedsheets and struggled to elaborate, “You’ve explained it all already – and though Stevie doesn’t look like he gives a flying fuck about what you’re saying, he _is_ listening. He knows why you did what you did, and he knows you’re sorry. He just needs to mull things over. Just give him some time until he decides to get over it.”

Xabi impatiently ran his fingers through his perfectly-coiffed hair in annoyance, “And what if he doesn’t?”

“You can’t do anything about it,” Carra said with a straightforward shrug. Xabi was about to speak up when Carra continued, talking over the protesting Basque, “But rushing Stevie and nagging him endlessly isn’t going to help either.”

Xabi rested his chin on his knees and looked up at Carra thoughtfully, “Would _you_ get over it?”

Carra didn’t even blink. “No.”

The Spaniard winced. “You’ve never thought of cheating? You’ve never been bothered by the idea of being committed to someone when possibly, there’s someone out there better for you?”

“That’s a load of bullcrap and you know it. You think Harry was better for you than Stevie?”

Xabi kept his head down as the embarrassment crept in. He stared fixedly at his bare toes on the carpet as Carra continued pressing questions, “I don’t understand the point of cheating: If you were so intent on finding out what Harry could give you that Stevie couldn’t, why couldn’t you at least have the decency to break up with your boyfriend first? You _chose this_ : to juggle them both at the same time so you could experiment on one hand and have a fall-back on another.”

“So, you can’t forgive me?” Xabi asked quietly.

Carra sighed. “No. But your infidelity has nothing to do with me – our friendship, our working relationship. So, I can still – and will still be – your friend. But it will always be an issue with me.”

Xabi looked slightly gratefully for a second before he morosely asked another question, “Do you think Stevie can’t forgive me too? You both think alike.”

“We may think alike,” Carra smiled encouragingly, “But the difference is, Stevie’s madly in love with you.”

A smile – a relieved chuckle, even – resurfaced in Xabi’s expression. Carra hastily added, “And if you love him too, you’ll let Stevie get over this in his own pace. You’ve done what you should and it’s all up to him now.”

“I promise,” Xabi nodded his head vigorously, the webs in his mind momentarily cleared for now after Carra’s input. “Thanks, Carra.”

“No problem,” Carra said, feeling completely triumphant after surviving that conversation. He threw himself onto his cushions and happily sank into them.

Xabi slowly got to his feet, dusting his jeans, “Carra?”

“Hmm?”

“Why did you bother helping me if you think what I did was unacceptable?”

Carra shrugged and gazed at the ceiling. “I know you’re sorry. Besides, you know what they say: it can happen to anyone of us – stupid mistakes.”

Xabi stopped uncertainly, “Really?”

Carra rolled his eyes and motioned Xabi to fill in the next lines. When the Spaniard stared at him blankly, Carra continued slowly, as if incredulous that this even had to be explained: “Anyone can fall, anyone can hurt someone they love. Hearts will break...?”

“...Who in the world would say those things?”

“Gareth Gates!” Carra kicked Xabi’s leg in frustration. “Jesus, Xabi. I thought you were smart.”

*

Finns always knew what Dan smelled like – a mix of breath mints faintly covering cigarette smoke, sprayed over with that strong, musky body spray Finns helped him find. But for a time Dan stopped smelling like himself and Finns always wondered why.

Ambling around the dorm room Harry shared with Fernando, the truth crept upon Finns. That tangy smell of pomade, that clean fragrance of laundry detergent and – Finns unscrewed the cover of a bottle of perfume and spritzed it on his wrists – that powdery Ralph Lauren scent. Daniel’s been smelling like that Spaniard all this time.

He let his fingers run over the smooth wood of Fernando’s desk, then he rummaged through the stack of papers. His nose wrinkled at the thick, jagged strokes of his handwriting. On the margins of the paper, however, was that unmistakable thin, even penmanship – written with the precision of a tattoo artist, Finns always kidded Daniel – and that made the Irishman scowl even harder.

Finns settled on Fernando’s desk chair and busily rifled through the pages of the Spaniard’s History readings. He read the notes along the margins – from the innocent “You want to meet up in the library later to plan our report?” to “Let’s grab a bite after training later, yeah?” in the earlier lectures and “This lecture is boring, we should meet up in the bathroom in five minutes.” in the later ones.

“Those readings are also filed by lecture, by subject and by class schedule – courtesy of me, of course – but is there anything else you want to know about Fernando?”

Finns let go of the papers in a shock and they splayed out messily on the floor. The Irishman dropped to his knees to gather the articles, thankful for a momentary diversion. From the corner of his eye, he sensed Harry approaching, wearing only his unbuttoned jeans with his bath towel slung carelessly over his shoulder. The Australian bent down as well to help Finns. Citrus bath soap, Finns duly noted with a deep breath. Not bad.

After they rearranged the things on Fernando’s table, Finns stood up straight, hands behind his back, cheeks burning bright. Like a child caught doing something bad. Harry gave him a lopsided grin and shrugged at him, not mentioning what he saw anymore. He merely turned to the dresser mirror and ran the towel vigorously through his hair. Droplets of water hit Finns’ skin and he relished the cool feeling.

“Do you want to have sex with me so you can forget Daniel for a while?” Harry asked plainly, glancing at Finns through his reflection on the mirror.

Finns’ jaw dropped. “Excuse me?”

“It’s not an accusation,” Harry said with another indifferent shrug. “It’s a proposal. Anyone can see how tightly wound up you are. You have unrequited love written all over you.”

“Wow, thanks.”

“Is that a yes?”

“No!”

“Then what?”

Finns stared helplessly at Harry’s tanned, sculptured back. He watched as the Australian meticulously combed and styled his hair. Finns watched those toned arms, especially. Those toned and tattooed arms. Almost like Daniel’s – shit.

Harry whirled around and faced Finns. He crossed his arms over his bare chest. “Then what?” He asked again, straightforwardly.

Finns’ cheeks burned again. “I – I’m not your type.”

“I don’t have a type, darling.”

“Well, I’m not like most people you sleep with then.”

Harry smirked. “You’re not good in bed?”

The heated blush spread from the Irishman’s cheeks to his neck and his ears as he struggled for the right answer. Harry patiently waited as he rummaged around his closet to continue getting dressed. He already had his shirt on, a belt fastened and one sock halfway through his foot when –

“I – I’ll think about it.” Finns blurted out.

Harry laughed. “No problem. I haven’t slept with someone demure in a long time.”


	14. I cry a little, die a little

_So, have you or haven’t you?  
Sender: Harry Kewell, 7:50 PM_

_Have I or haven’t I what?  
Sender: Fernando Torres, 7:50 PM_

_Gotten laid! What else would I bother asking about?  
Sender: Harry Kewell, 7:51 PM_

_FERNANDO.  
Sender: Harry Kewell, 7:55 PM_

_OKAY, I TAKE THAT AS A NO. YOU PRUDE.  
Sender: Harry Kewell, 7:59 PM_

_Hey, it’s not like I’m against the idea, okay. It just... hasn’t happened yet.  
Sender: Fernando Torres, 8:07 PM_

_Why not?  
Sender: Harry Kewell, 8:08 PM_

_He hasn’t made a move yet!  
Sender: Fernando Torres, 8:08 PM_

_Are you sure Daniel’s not straight?  
Sender: Harry Kewell, 8:15 PM_

_Oh, haha, Harry.  
Sender: Fernando Torres, 8:17 PM_

_OR! What if you made him straight?  
Sender: Harry Kewell, 8:18 PM_

_...Shut up.  
Sender: Fernando Torres, 8:30 PM_

_That would be easier to accept, admit it. He doesn’t not like you, he just doesn’t like that you don’t have a vagina.  
Sender: Harry Kewell, 8:31 PM_

_You’re so profound.  
Sender: Fernando Torres, 8:32 PM_

_Yes, thank you very much. Now go and pin him down and gyrate on top of him or something.  
Sender: Harry Kewell, 8:35 PM_

_I don’t want to seem desperate, thanks.  
Sender: Fernando Torres, 8:36 PM_

_What is this dignity you’re talking about?  
Sender: Harry Kewell, 8:37 PM_

_Yeah, I could only wish I was as shameless as you, Harry.  
Sender: Fernando Torres, 8:39 PM_

_Yeah, you would get fucked so much more often, that’s for sure.  
Sender: Harry Kewell, 8:40 PM_

_I get some, okay.  
Sender: Fernando Torres, 9:05 PM_

_Uh-huh. How many times have you slept with Dan?  
Sender: Harry Kewell, 9:06 PM_

_Well. Once.  
Sender: Fernando Torres: 9:20 PM_

_Right. And how many times have we gotten together?  
Sender: Harry Kewell, 9: 21 PM_

_Twice. And then some.  
Sender: Fernando Torres, 9:36 PM_

_I rest my case.  
Sender: Harry Kewell, 9:37 PM_

_I just want to clarify that I had sex with you out of friendship.  
Sender: Fernando Torres, 9:38 PM_

_Okay, enjoy being friends with Dan then, HAHAHAHAHAHAHA.  
Sender: Harry Kewell, 9:39 PM_

_Whatever, I have to go. My friend’s going to call me and he says it’s important.  
Sender: Fernando Torres, 9:41 PM_

_Okay. GET FUCKED, TORRES!  
Sender: Harry Kewell, 9:42 PM_

*

In general, Daniel just liked being acutely aware of everything Fernando was doing. He’s always been observant of the striker since Day One – watched the way he doodled during Mr Ferguson’s lectures or kidded with Pepe during lunch or laced his boots before training.

But to room with him for a weekend and be around him 24/7 – it was like his mind was going on overdrive taking down the most miniscule of details. It was utterly fascinating to the point of being ridiculously bothersome.

Daniel reread the Chapter Summary in his Biology textbook for the third time but the words just swam in front of his eyes. Gripping his highlighter tightly in annoyance, he underlined sentence after sentence to remind him to review that section again later. Leaning back on the desk chair, he viciously flipped over the pages he just finished reading and they all glowed a bright highlighter green.

So, he couldn’t focus.

Not with Fernando chattering endlessly in rapid Spanish in the background.

Daniel capped his highlighter and threw it down on the hotel desk in surrender. To hell with Biology for now. All Daniel could put his mind into was to wonder who Fernando was talking to over his mobile. At first he guessed it was his mother. But he heard ‘joder’ and ‘puta’ strewn seamlessly into the conversation and he doubted the striker would ever talk to his mother like that. So it must have been someone else. And naturally, Daniel was consumed with curiosity.

It also didn’t help that Daniel had always loved hearing Fernando speak Spanish during sex.

Tentatively, Dan turned his head to the side to catch a glimpse of the striker. He was still on the bed, as he was since he last checked a few minutes ago: back propped against the headrest, long legs stretched out.

What he didn’t expect, however, was for Fernando to be glancing back at him as well – glancing at him very carefully, but intently.

Looks like Dan wasn’t the only one preoccupied with watching.

When their eyes met, they both quickly looked away. As if they both already hadn’t been caught.

Dan returned to his homework, loudly flipping the pages, just to prove a point. Fernando continued his conversation on the phone like nothing happened. And suddenly, Dan got this creeping feeling that he was being talked about.

So when Sami came up behind him, tapped his shoulder and softly said “Daniel,” the Dane practically jumped out of his skin.

“What?” Dan demanded loudly, clutching his rapidly-beating heart.

“Are you okay? You’ve been so quiet tonight,” Sami said, sitting on Dan’s desk and looking down at the young defender with concern.

“Quiet? I – I haven’t been quiet. Or I’ve always been quiet. I don’t really know what you’re talking about,” Dan stammered incoherently.

“Is it because we drew against Arsenal?” Sami asked worriedly, not letting the topic go.

Dan blinked in confusion then stared back up at Sami blankly. And the Finn must have taken that to mean yes.

“It’s okay, you weren’t the one who was supposed to be marking Adebayor, you know. It wasn’t your fault they got a late equaliser,” the Finn launched into one of his patented How to be a Good Defender lectures. “The back four always has to work as a unit...”

Dan’s gaze wandered off just right above Sami’s shoulder, over to where Fernando was watching them both from the other side of the room. His phone conversation tapered off into slow, deep, rumbling Spanish words as he looked at Daniel with this unreadable, mysterious – almost furtive – expression on his face. Dan shifted uneasily in his seat because, goddamit, that made him a little hot under the collar.

“Daniel, are you listening to me?” Sami broke through his thoughts, “You need to learn from these kinds of games.”

“Uh-huh,” Daniel replied distractedly, running the back of his hand over his suddenly perspiring forehead.

“You look on edge.” Sami pointed out.

“I’m not on edge.” Dan petulantly answered back. As if on cue, he thought he saw a slow smile spread over bruised Spanish lips. That fucking cocktease.

“Daniel,” Sami began warningly, but the Dane cut him off, “I’ll sleep it off, Sami.”

Sami rubbed his chin thoughtfully, “I don’t know...”

“If I still have issues, I’ll talk to you, I promise,” Dan added, itching to finish the conversation so he could shamelessly ogle Fernando again.

“Okay, I guess...” Sami reluctantly conceded. He stood up and approached his luggage, gathering a change of clothes. He glanced at Fernando, still busy on his mobile, and Daniel, still plastered and brain-dead on his desk, and motioned to the bathroom, “I’ll just take first dibs on the shower tonight then, lads.”

“Alright,” the two younger boys answered simultaneously, their eyes already slowly drifting towards each other with every step the Finn took to the bathroom.

The bathroom door hadn’t yet completely closed behind Sami when Fernando immediately snapped his mobile shut, practically leaping off the bed, and Daniel flew from his chair in turn. The Dane must have crossed the room in three strides because suddenly, he was gripping Fernando’s forearms so tightly, anticipation pounding in his ears.

“No, here,” Fernando said breathlessly, as he tugged the defender to the couch on the farthest side of the room. “So Sami won’t hear us,” he explained, his eyes twinkling with exhilaration.

Dan pushed the Spaniard on the cushions and couldn’t climb between his legs fast enough.

“Fernando,” he murmured softly, roughly entwining his hand through the Spaniard’s hair. Fernando pressed up against him and brought his face close to Dan’s, whispering urgently, “I need to tell you something.”

Dan dipped his head down – so near he could almost taste the kiss – and almost groaned out, “You don’t know how much I – ”

Fernando spoke at the same time, words ghosting over Dan’s face, tone brimming with excitement.

“Do you know Cesc?”

Dan’s eyes flew open and he pulled back so far he almost fell over. “Wait, what?”

Fernando blinked twice, thrice, as if to try to catch up on what just happened. After a quick pause, he demanded suspiciously too, “...I don’t know how much you what?”

Dan’s cheeks burned bright red so he challenged back, “You brought me here to ask about Cesc?”

Fernando bit his lip before answering back indignantly. “Yes! What the bloody else for?”

Dan climbed off the couch, kept a safe distance from Fernando for good measure, and crossed his arms over his chest defensively. He changed the topic quickly, “That annoying, little pipsqueak from Arsenal Cesc? That Cesc?”

“Well, yes!” Fernando huffed in annoyance.

They both glared at each other for a long time and all that could be heard was Sami whistling in the shower. Dan sighed in frustration and shook his head. He turned away from Fernando and plopped back down on his desk chair, flipping open his textbook again.

Fernando pursed his lips and tapped his foot, trying to get himself to calm down and reassess the situation. Dealing with Daniel always required a level head and a steady hand. They couldn’t both have a short temper.

Slowly, he walked up to Dan’s desk and bent over him.

“Danny,” he said softly, almost purring.

He sensed the defender tensing up. But he only tightened his grip on his textbook and coughed loudly, “You’re blocking the light.”

Fernando clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth impatiently then reached around – made sure his arm brushed Daniel’s nape – and slapped the book cover shut.

“Do you really have to study?” Fernando asked, teasingly running his finger over the shell of Dan’s ear. The defender visibly shuddered under his touch.

Finally, Dan turned around and spoke up in a strained voice, “What do you have in mind?”

Fernando’s eyes lit up and he smiled widely. “As I was saying,” he dropped his tone in case Sami could hear them from the bath. “Cesc’s throwing a party. Tonight.”

Dan attempted to concentrate on what Fernando was saying but he was speaking so softly, Dan had to tilt closer to the Spaniard. And the maddening proximity practically invaded his senses which made it more difficult for Dan even more.

“And I hear your friend Nick Bendtner will be there too.” Fernando continued, expertly running his repertoire: he looked down for a second, innocently played with the collar of Dan’s shirt, and then timidly glanced up at the defender under thick lashes.

Dan cleared his throat and struggled to choke out, “So, what now?”

Fernando bit his lip before answering with a slight devilish twinkle in his eye, “You should go with me.”

There, not even a question. An order. And when Fernando said, ‘jump,’ Dan said...

“How do we get out of here without getting caught?”

*

Harry was in the middle of searching for his black jeans in his closet when his mobile rang. Not bothering to check the name of the caller, he flipped his phone open, “Yeah?”

“Hello?” The voice on the other line answered back unsurely.

Harry’s forehead furrowed. He glanced at the screen, “Finns?”

“Yeah, yeah,” the Irishman replied, sounding relieved.

“What’s up?” Harry said, cradling his mobile between his shoulder and his cheek as he busily rummaged in his bureaus. His closet was hyper-organised – arranged by cut and colour, sometimes even by season. He didn’t understand why his trousers could possibly have disappeared.

“Well, have you heard from the boys in London?” Finns asked casually.

Harry shrugged, as if the defender could see it, “Yeah. Their game finished a couple of hours ago, didn’t it? Draw, 1-1. Late equaliser from Adebayor.”

“Oh,” Finns said, sounding slightly surprised. “Erm, what else?”

“I think they’re back in the hotel already. I was texting with Fernando a while ago.” Harry stomped over to Fernando’s closet to look for his jeans. He had only flung open one closet door and he wrinkled his nose already. Fernando’s clothes were heaped in an incomprehensible mound of bagginess and bad polyester. Harry poked at all the black items of clothing and wondered how many sweatpants he could filter through before convulsing into violent spasms. 

“Really? Daniel hasn’t replied to my messages yet. Or, at all.” Finns muttered.

“Maybe he’s busy?” Harry said distractedly. He smirked to himself remembering Fernando’s messages and added dryly, “I hear they’re humping like bunnies. In heat.”

And maybe Stephen Finnan just hadn’t heard of the concept of sarcasm or he was just overly sensitive or – as Harry long predicted – he was still sickeningly attached to the Dane, but Finns didn’t speak up for a long time.

“A-HA!” Harry yelled out triumphantly, yanking his black pair of jeans wedged underneath Fernando’s pile of clean underwear.

“Say, you want to hang out tonight?” Finns blurted out all of a sudden.

Harry’s eyebrows raised. “I’m supposed to meet a couple of my friends for drinks.”

Finns persisted, “But, you could be a little bit late, right?”

A small smile of comprehension spread over Harry’s features. “Maybe?”

“Maybe what?”

“It depends on what you’re planning,” Harry said, sliding effortlessly into his slim-cut trousers and feeling the fabric stretch tightly over his thighs.

“How about you drop by my house?” Finns asked, more confident now. “My parents are out.”

“Sounds good,” Harry looked at his reflection in the mirror and grinned proudly to himself. “I’ll come down in fifteen.”

*

“I’m getting the Spaghetti Bolognese. You?” Stevie peered above the room service menu. Carra yawned and stretched out on his bed, “Get me the double cheeseburger.”

“Sidedish?” Stevie asked, reaching out for the telephone and punching in the number for the lobby.

“Crisps,” Carra answered. “But you might want to wait for Xabi before ordering.”

“Why?” Stevie retorted crankily, slamming the phone down back on its cradle. “I’m starving.”

“He’s our roommate. It’s the least you can do,” Carra pointed out.

“Well, where is he?” Stevie impatiently grumbled. “I haven’t even seen him since the game.”

“He’s in Pepe’s room, just wait for him. I’m sure he won’t be long.” Carra reasoned out, switching on the telly.

Stevie grumbled and reached for the phone again, furiously punching in the numbers to the goalkeeper’s room.

“Hello?” Alvaro answered, choking out the greeting in between fits of laughter.

The captain gritted his teeth in irritation and barked, “Put Xabi on.”

There was a loud ruckus as the phone was passed around, making Stevie more and more incensed. If this was another one of Xabi’s hair-brained schemes to get them to talk, he was dead. The Scouser was in no mood to chat, much less flirt, nor reconcile.

“Yeah?” Xabi answered, still chuckling to himself.

“Come back here,” Stevie gruffly replied.

“Why?” Xabi asked, put-off. Stevie heard Pepe, Alvaro and Masch in the background roar into another animated conversation.

“We’re ordering room service and we’re waiting for you,” Stevie snapped, annoyed that Xabi didn’t even sound considerate over the phone. He even laughed distractedly as Stevie overheard Pepe start singing at the top of his lungs.

“Xabi!” Stevie half-shouted now.

“Don’t worry about me then,” Xabi pointed out frankly, as if he couldn’t wait to go back to his friends. “You and Carra go ahead. I’ll grab a bite with the boys instead.”

 _‘The boys?’_ Stevie almost spluttered out in disbelief. Xabi didn’t hang out with ‘the boys’! But the Scouser said instead, “It’s almost curfew!”

Xabi laughed airily again – and this time Stevie knew it was meant for him. “It’s still an hour away, Stevie. We’ll be back in time.”

Stevie protested hotly, “But –”

But Xabi had already said, “Bye, Stevie!” And then the line was cut.

*

“Faster,” Dan urged Fernando as they both hurried down the lobby, their sneakers making the slightest scuffling noises against the marble floors. It was later than they anticipated but they both had to wait for Rafa to conduct his room-to-room headcount. As soon as Sami fell asleep, they tore out of there.

“Almost there,” Fernando uttered under his breath, seeing the revolving door about a couple of yards away now. They half-walked, half-ran, keeping their heads down in case somebody –

“Shit!” Dan cursed. From the corner of his eye, Sammy Lee, Rafa’s assistant, emerged from one of the lounges and started heading in their direction.

Thinking quickly, he shoved the panicked Spaniard against a crook in the wall behind a small potted plant then dove in after him. Fernando flattened himself against the wall to make space for Daniel.

From the point of view of a passer-by, it only seemed like they were but two young men, nestled in a small nook of the hallway. It was conspicuous, the way their chests were pressed against each other’s or the way their faces were only a few intimate inches apart, but other than those, the pair was unrecognizable.

Daniel and Fernando both held their breath as Sammy shuffled idly by, texting on his mobile. 

“I can’t believe we thought of sneaking out,” Fernando muttered.

“Pussy.” Dan smirked back quietly.

Fernando’s cheeks burned up. He suddenly became intensely aware of how Dan’s hands were planted on the wall on either side of his face, invariably creating a cage around him.

“But you know,” Dan tilted his chin down so he could look straight into Fernando’s eyes, “We _could_ ditch the party if you want to. This is interesting enough.”

Fernando squirmed but he forced himself to gaze unwaveringly back at the defender. “How about we pay them a courtesy call, stay for a few drinks, then” – Fernando tried to keep his voice steady as Dan ran the tip of his nose along the edge of the striker’s jaw – “Then, we can get back to this?”

Dan laughed quietly. It tickled Fernando’s neck.

“Sounds like a plan,” the defender finally answered.

They were both quiet for a while – Dan letting his lips hover centimetres above the skin of Fernando’s neck, ear, scalp; Fernando concentrating on keeping his breathing steady.

“So, Sammy’s gone,” Fernando blurted out.

Dan didn’t seem fazed, only took a smooth step back to let Fernando out. Fernando didn’t budge, still a bit disoriented.

The defender shot the striker a crooked grin. “Let’s go?”

“Uh, right.” Fernando shook his head as if to shake some sense to himself. “You’re right.”

“You okay?” Dan asked, a warm feeling spreading in his gut seeing the striker frantically try to get his act together.

Fernando cleared his throat and smiled shakily, “Of course!”

“Come on, then,” he said, taking Fernando’s hand – it’s been a long time since he has – and tugging him to the bank of revolving doors by the hotel lobby. He glanced back at the dazed striker and snickered cheekily at him, “Let’s get this over with.”

*

Harry lifted the brass knocker on the antique door and cringed at the loud, hollow sound it made. Soon after, though, the door opened and a servant poked her head out.

“Yes?” She asked.

“Good evening, is Stephen in?” Harry greeted politely. She nodded and ushered him inside, before excusing herself to fetch Finns.

Harry moved in a small circle, openly gaping at the luxurious foyer, from the thick, Persian carpet on the floors to the ornately designed vases along the mantle.

“It’s a bit much, isn’t it?”

Harry spun around and saw Finns, standing barefoot by the stairwell with a sheepish grin on his face.

“No, no.” Harry quickly replied and shrugged, “It’s a nice house.”

“Anyway, thanks for coming over,” Finns began but trailed off, unsure of how to continue. Harry waited patiently and secretly found the awkwardness almost endearing.

“Why don’t we head to the study?” The Irishman finally said and without waiting for a response, he spun around on his heel and motioned for Harry to follow him up the stairs. He discreetly ran his hand over his face in frustration. His confidence from a few minutes ago talking to Harry over the phone was all but gone now.

“Here,” Finns said, opening the door to their house’s mini-library and Harry let out a low whistle.

“If this was my study, I’d definitely get more work done,” the Australian kidded, sitting down on one of the plush couches and letting his fingers run over the smooth velvet.

“Harry, I...” Finns sighed and ran his hand through his hair. He finally admitted, “I don’t really know how to –”

Harry raised an eyebrow. The Irishman shifted his weight from foot to foot, keeping his head down to hide his reddening cheeks. “I’ve only ever done this with Daniel and he usually takes the lead so, I don’t...”

The Australian bit back a sympathetic grin, “Baby, relax.” He stood up and took Finns hands, walking backwards back to the couch and taking the defender along with him. “We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to.”

“No, I want to!” Finns was quick to rebut and Harry chuckled. They both sat down and faced each other tentatively.

“Okay, so...” Harry said slowly, not wanting to scare the other boy off. “What do you want to do?”

“I don’t think I’m still up to _doing everything_ ,” Finns played with his hands on his lap and looked up briefly at the Australian, cringing in embarrassment.

Harry laughed, carefree. “Okay, maybe we could try kissing first?”

“Kissing?” Finns sounded relieved. “I can do that, sure.”

Harry nodded and moved closer to Finns. The Irishman audibly held his breath. He stiffened and froze, so Harry was the one who leaned closer.

“Tongue?” Harry asked for permission and his breath blew over Finns’ moistened lips softly.

“Uh, maybe just plain kissing first,” Finns mumbled unsurely. He bit back a squeak when he felt Harry place a steady hand on his cheek and move in. He squeezed his eyes shut, mostly out of fear than anticipation, and then he felt a pair of lips press on his. After a few seconds, they were gone.

Finns’ eyes flew open and he immediately found himself saying, “No!”

Harry looked confused so Finns stammered in explanation, “I mean - I’m sorry, can we do that again? I did really badly on that one.”

Harry looked almost stunned for a second, “This isn’t an examination retake, Finns.”

“Oh. Right.”

“And you weren’t horrible.”

Finns blushed furiously again. “So, one more time?”

Harry laughed, “Okay.”

Gathering his courage, Finns leaned in first this time and took the lead. He captured Harry’s lips with his own and even got to lick at the Australian’s bottom lip. Harry mewled softly and pressed in deeper, it only seemed natural that they would next –

“Still no tongue?” Harry pulled away just a few centimetres so he could breathe out the question.

Finns brought a steady hand to the back of Harry’s head and brought him to the kiss again. “Tongue,” he murmured in confirmation, just before their lips crashed together once more.

*

“You sure this is the right place?” Dan asked, pushing the door open for Fernando, leading into a small apartment.

“Yeah, this is it,” Fernando said, standing on tiptoes and scrutinizing the people milling around. “Now, let me just look for Cesc...”

“Fernando!” A guy called out from the living room and separated from his guests to approach the newcomers. The brunette was short, young, had doe eyes and a bright smile. “You made it!”

“Cesc, hey,” Fernando broke into a wide grin as he approached the other Spaniard. They gave each other a quick hug, a buss on each cheek. “Party’s in full swing?”

“Yeah,” Cesc laughed. “It’s not a big event, you know. Just something to wind down after the game, get-together with some friends from school.”

While it wasn’t one of the typical, crazy house party, it also really wasn’t a ‘small get-together’ either. The Catalan always was the popular one. Fernando looked around at the groups of people settled on the couches, the walls, spread out on the floor. It was so crowded, they had to pick their way carefully across the room. 

Cesc led his guests into the kitchen where an impromptu bar was set up. The midfielder could already sense the gaze of his London friends setting in on the outsiders. Everyone here knew everybody else and to see these two new boys come in, they stuck out like sore thumbs. Or fresh meat. He knew his friends were staring at the boys from head to toe, there were already one or two catcalls. From the corner of his eye, Cesc saw Dan press closer against Fernando and place a possessive hand against the small of his back.

“Finally,” Cesc said, as they got into the emptier and quieter kitchen. Not missing a beat, he spun on his heel and faced the two, grinning naughtily, “So, Fernando, I assume this is the Daniel person you keep talking about?”

Fernando’s eyes widened and his cheeks immediately burned a bright, bright red. “Cesc!” He yelped helplessly.

Cesc laughed even harder. He turned to the Dane and held out his hand, “Cesc.”

Dan nodded, smiling in embarrassment, “Daniel.”

“Yeah, I remember you from the game,” Cesc said, casually shrugging and changing the topic to help out Fernando who looked like he would suffer from a seizure. “You’re not a very forgiving defender.”

“Thanks, you dominated our midfield too. But don’t tell Stevie I told you that,” Dan said, his tense shoulders lowering just a notch.

“No problem,” Cesc winked at Daniel and added. “By the way, Nicklas just had to go out and get some more ice and a couple of smokes. But he says you should wait for him.”

“Sure, of course. Bendtner and I haven’t seen each other for the longest time,” Dan nodded.

“Anyway, Fernando, come help me get some drinks,” Cesc said, beckoning the Madridista over as he rummaged around his small refrigerator. The striker obediently stood up and came over.

“So, what is up with the two of you?” Cesc spoke in Spanish from the corner of his mouth. Fernando hesitated and glanced up quickly at Dan to make sure he wasn’t listening. Cesc continued, “The last time we talked, you told me you both had a falling out. There was another boy, right?”

Fernando flinched and Cesc could see the way the striker focused intently on moving away the plastic containers of food from his fridge to get to the bottles of vodka cruisers in the back. He finally whispered in reply, “Yeah, but things kind of... blew over. And we got back into speaking terms and,” he shot Cesc a smile that made his eyes twinkle gleefully, “Things are going really, really well between us.”

“Something serious, I hope?” Cesc prodded his friend.

Fernando stifled a loud laugh and he answered giddily, “I don’t want to jinx it, but yeah. I think it is?”

Cesc straightened up, a bottle in each hand. Fernando got another one and they headed to the sink where the bottle opener was.

“I mean, we haven’t really talked about it,” the striker continued speaking in Spanish quietly, as he played with the bottle caps littered on the table, “But the way he acts, it feels like it’s serious this time. And, you know, I really like him.”

“That’s great then,” Cesc said, giving Fernando a supportive pat. He didn’t mention how he thought it was the vagueness of their relationship that led to their first fight to begin with. It was a party after all, not an unwanted counselling session.

They walked back to where Dan was waiting patiently by the counter, politely ignoring their murmurings throughout. Cesc watched the way the defender gave Fernando a timid smile, or the way he angled his body towards him as they sat beside each other. Dan’s hand was set centimetres away from the striker’s on the counter, his thigh touching the side of Fernando’s barstool – a blatant sign of marking his territory. Cesc guessed if gestures were the basis, he couldn’t fault Fernando for being smitten.

Still, he couldn’t stop himself from feeling just the slightest bit wary.

*

“Mmm,” Harry found himself murmuring contentedly against the liplock. He pulled away briefly and Finns made a little sound of protest. The Australian smirked and littered quick, butterfly kisses on the defender’s strong jaw. “You’re pretty good at this,” he enunciated with every peck.

Finns blushed. They had started slowly and shyly – _very_ slowly and shyly – but he didn’t expect Harry to be so supportive and encouraging, he began feeling just a teensy bit more relaxed. In fact – Finns tilted his head instinctively to give Harry more access kissing down the side of his neck – he was actually enjoying himself thoroughly.

“Oh!” Finns moaned in surprised pleasure as Harry clamped a hot mouth on the base of his throat and started sucking avidly. “...God.” He let his eyes slip closed, forgetting easily that this would leave a mark the next day. In his mind, it was only the sensation of that tongue dragging along his skin.

Before he could stop himself, the Irishman reached out and placed both his hands on each of Harry’s thighs. He ran them over the rough material of the denim, felt how the fabric stretched over the cuts of muscle, drifting higher and higher, straying onto the inner thigh. He felt Harry arc to his touch.

“Are you sure we – You said...” Harry spoke, his words jumbling together in the haze of his mind. His breathing was starting to become ragged.

“Just – ” Finns started, his voice thickening with building lust as the Australian slipped a cold hand under his shirt and palmed over his torso, “Yes.”

A smile of pure wickedness spread instantly over Harry’s features. His other hand quickly dove under Finns’ shirt as well, roaming shamelessly now over the sculpted chest, the hard nipples. Finns groaned and pressed their mouths together again with so much urgency, he almost didn’t catch the sound of a car arriving and the front door opening.

“Wait, was that...?” Finns suddenly pulled away, the weight of realization suddenly dropping full-force on him.

“Stephen, we’re home!” A voice called out from outside and a pair of heels click-clacked noisily over the marble floor. And from the sound of it, it was heading straight to where the two boys were hiding out. Harry and Finns exchanged wide-eyed looks of panic.

Midway through flying to opposite ends of the couch, the study door flew open and a middle-aged woman with a stern face peeped in. “Oh, Stephen, there you are.”

“Mum!” Finns blurted out in a high-pitched tone. He immediately stood up from his place on the couch to place a kiss on his mother’s cheek. “I didn’t know you would be home soon, I – I had a guest over.”

Harry looked up at Finns’ mom and answered smoothly, “Good evening, Mrs Finnan.” Inside, he thanked his fast thinking for remembering to cover his growing erection with a throw pillow plopped over his lap.

“Harry, this is my Mum. Mum, this is Harry,” Finns hurriedly introduced the two, “He’s the student assistant for the college application week and he’s also an editor in our school paper.”

“Well, that sounds great, Harry,” Finns’ mum immediately chirped, loosening up upon knowing the stranger and his credentials. “And I assume you both have gotten together to...?” She trailed off, waiting for his son to continue.

“Ah, uh. Well, it’s because...” Finns began, stuttering completely. The Irishman’s cheeks grew brighter and brighter as his mum stared at him expectantly.

“Harry’s...” Finns glanced over at the Australian in thinly-disguised panic.

“Actually, Mrs Finnan” – Harry shot Finns a knowing smile before intervening smoothly – “I’m a tutor.”

*

“So, what did I miss?” Nick plopped down on the couch 

“I was wondering where you went,” Cesc laughed.

“Well, I’m sorry you gave me a long errand list,” Nick rolled his eyes the Catalan. “The ice is in the cooler, the drinks are in the fridge and I grabbed a few boxes of pizza in case,” he reported dutifully.

“Thanks. Anyway, there’s your friend,” Cesc nodded to the direction of the makeshift dance floor in the centre of his living room. It was hard to see through the throng of moving people, but Nick could just make out Daniel somewhere in the crowd.

“Wow, who’s his boy?” Nick gave a low whistle, watching his compatriot dance with a tall, blonde boy.

“Fernando.”

“Fernando, Fernando Torres, their team’s striker?” Nick asked. He raised an eyebrow, noting how Daniel and Fernando’s bodies were firmly intertwined with each other’s. “Sexual tension, much?”

“Exactly,” Cesc snickered. “We all went to the dance floor together but they started doing that and I felt like I was peeping into a private show.”

“Which is a kink in itself,” Nick supplied helpfully.

“Yes, yes, whatever gets you off.”

“So, what are they?”

“Given categorical Facebook answers, I would say, an ‘it’s complicated’?”

Nick snorted, “Cop-out.”

“Well, that’s just my guess,” Cesc said. He signalled towards the two Liverpudlians making their way to where Cesc and Nick were seated, “If you want, you can grill them yourself.”

“Nicklas, hey,” Daniel called out, and Nick stood up to meet the other Dane. They clasped hands and pat each other on the back in greeting.

“Fernando,” the boy with dirty blonde hair and a timid smile spoke up and extended his hand to Nick. Nick took it and introduced himself in return, “Nicklas. Sorry I couldn’t be here earlier. Your friend here,” he elbowed Cesc meaningfully, “Has made me his latest errand-runner.”

“Oh, Nick. You know I’m already the brains between the two of us. But, you can be the brawn,” Cesc suggested to his teammate generously, batting his eyelashes for effect.

Nick didn’t bother replying, only turned to Daniel and spoke up loudly.

“So Daniel, is Fernando here your boyfriend?”

Cesc slapped his forehead. Nicklas always was very direct.

Dan blushed. He instinctively dropped his arm from around Fernando’s shoulders and shuffled away from the Spaniard a few feet. He answered gruffly in reply, “No. Of course not.”

Cesc raised an eyebrow at Fernando, but the latter pointedly looked away. Fernando knew Dan just wasn’t good with confrontation and maybe Cesc didn’t understand that. But it wasn’t usually as bad as it sounded.

Nick didn’t seem convinced. Undeterred, he asked again, “Dating?”

“No, we’re just – ”

“Your latest squeeze then?”

“What? No – ”

“Friends with benefits?” Nicklas offered, sincerely asking option after option, but Dan dodged the questions by stammering. Cesc and Fernando simply watched, agape.

“I don’t know what you’re – ”

“Is it an unlabelled, unrequited, noncommittal, non-emotional arrangement?” Nick pressed. He added sarcastically, “What, do you even know each other?”

Dan’s glare hardened as he finally spat out an answer. “Quit it. We’re just friends, okay? Nothing more.”

The group was quiet for a few long moments as the words awkwardly hung in the air.

“...Nothing?” Nick asked again, not willing to let it go. Fernando found himself echoing the same thing in the back of his mind. Only it sounded more pitiful, more pleading.

But Dan didn’t miss a beat in replying resolutely. “Nothing.”

There was another long silence and Nick could swear Dan was shooting him daggers with his eyes. Shifting uncomfortably, he tried to think of a way out of this conversation. From the corner of his eye, he saw Fernando downing his drink in a few gulps. He looked like he wanted to be anywhere but here right now. And Nick guessed he owed him that, at the very least.

Nick cleared his throat and spoke up tentatively, “Hey, Fernando, why don’t we go to the kitchen and get some more drinks? I brought in a couple of new cases of beer earlier.”

The Spaniard looked surprised, but relief quickly washed over his pale face. “Sure, no problem,” he replied, shooting Nicklas a small smile of gratitude. Nick took the Spaniard by the arm and they bailed quickly.

With the other two gone, Dan reluctantly looked up to meet Cesc’s gaze. The Catalan’s face was stern, but when he spoke, he apologized instead.

“Sorry,” he sighed, rubbing his temples. “Nicklas can get a bit... much.”

Dan laughed half-heartedly, his gaze transfixed on the retreating backs of Nick and Fernando. He finally mused, “Yeah. I can’t believe I forgot how he can be.”

“He probably didn’t mean to corner you like that,” Cesc added gently.

“I know,” Dan mumbled a distracted reply. He tore his eyes away from the kitchen and glanced at Cesc unsurely, “Was it...?”

“Yes.” Cesc didn’t even bat an eyelash. “It was bad.”

Dan cringed and he rubbed the back of his neck stressfully. “How bad?”

Cesc paused to ponder the question. Dan stared at him expectantly. “Honestly?” The midfielder grimaced, “Kind of like a train wreck.”

*

“I’m really sorry I had to overstay, Mrs Finnan,” Harry explained earnestly. “Stephen and I lost track of time studying.”

“Oh, nonsense, Harry. It’s perfectly fine. I’m just glad someone’s helping out my son,” Mrs Finnan waved away the Australian’s apologies as she walked him to the door. Finns ambled along with them, pursing his lips tightly to keep from bursting out laughing.

“Thank you, you’re too kind,” Harry answered so smoothly, Finns was honestly impressed. “Anyway, I have to go ahead and return a couple of books to the library.”

Finns cocked an eyebrow from behind his mother. He knew Harry was heading to the pub to meet some friends. Harry only gave him a discreet wink before resuming his conversation with Mrs Finnan about the latest novel he was reading. Finns shook his head and bit back a smile.

“Well, you should definitely join us for dinner sometime, Harry,” Mrs Finnan was saying. “Steve, when’s your next lesson?”

Finns looked up when he heard his name, blinking in surprise.

“Yeah, when’s our next lesson, Finns?” Harry said, smirking playfully.

Finns blushed, trying to keep his voice steady as he turned to his mother. “Tomorrow night, if it’s okay with you?” He glanced at Harry for a second, “I mean, we do have a lot of catching up to do after we cut short our meeting tonight.”

“Right, right,” Harry said, keeping a straight face but his eyes twinkled deviously. “Tomorrow night, then. We can pick up where we left off.”

Finns nodded, stifling an ear-to-ear grin. “Alright. Good night, Harry.”

“Good night, Stephen. It was nice meeting you, Mrs Finnan,” Harry said, waving politely before skipping down the steps to the sidewalk.

“Well,” Mrs Finnan sighed contentedly as she pushed the door shut behind her. “You should have more friends like those. Not like that boy Daniel you always bring around?” She wrinkled her nose in distaste. “I sense trouble with that boy. All those tattoos, always frowning, does bad in school. But Harry, I like him.”

Finns stared at her in surprise. It was no secret his mother disliked Daniel. But he always thought that was because she disliked all his friends. His mother patted his shoulder as they walked back into the foyer, “You should have that lad around more often.”

*

Nick watched Fernando sip his beer in silence, staring moodily into the countertop. The Dane cleared his throat softly. Fernando looked up, startled. Nick gave him a kind smile and Fernando felt a bit comforted knowing Nick understood what was going on in his head.

“So, did Danny give the right answer?” Nick asked carefully, taking a seat across the Liverpool striker.

“It’s complicated?” Fernando answered jokingly, grinning at Nick as if to show he wasn’t troubled at all by what had unfolded. It didn’t convince either of them.

Nick replied, “I figured. But you know, even unlabelled relationships have rough estimates. Was Dan anywhere near the target?”

Fernando paused for a long time as he let the words sink into his head and as he tried to come up with an anwer. Finally, he sighed and admitted, “We haven’t really settled what the target is either.”

The Dane laughed, breaking the tension. “Wow, do you and Daniel ever talk?”

Fernando smirked. “Actually, we take great pains to not talk about us.”

“But?”

“But I wish it was clearer, you know? I mean, I’m not asking Daniel to marry me. I don’t want some proclamation of undying love!” Fernando said, his voice rising as he found himself confessing more and more than he expected. “I just want – if we’re going to be fuck buddies, let’s just get on to it and have sex. Stop with the niceties and these tiny little emotional investments. If we’re going to be something more, stop rejecting me and stop sleeping with Steve Finnan!”

“Whoa, whoa,” Nick said, eyes wide. He reached out and rubbed Fernando’s arm, “Relax. I was just asking.”

Fernando’s forehead was still furrowed and his eyes were still blazing. But he forced a tight smile at Nicklas, “Sorry, I’m just... frustrated, I guess.”

Nick held out another bottle of beer, “Liquid courage?”

Fernando broke into a weak chuckle. “Thanks.” He took a long swig of the bitter liquid before sticking out his tongue at Nick. “This is your fault. You opened a can of worms.”

Nick rolled his eyes playfully. “I’m only helping the two of you deal with the realities of your non-relationship!”

The two strikers dissolved into giggles. A soft knock on the kitchen door interrupted them and they both turned to the visitor.

Dan stood by the doorway, watching Nick and Fernando leaning closely together over a couple of drinks. He knew it probably wasn’t it looked like, but it still sparked a flicker of righteous anger in his gut.

“Fernando, I think we have to go. It’s getting late,” Dan said. Fernando didn’t meet the defender’s gaze. He only nodded and put down his drink. He wasn’t even slipping off his seat yet when Nick took his arm, beckoning him to stop for a second. He saw how Dan was appraising them, and he saw that hint of jealousy quickly souring the older Dane’s expression.

“Look, if anything,” Nick dropped his tone to a whisper so only Fernando could hear. “I know Dan. And he’s a no-bullshit type of guy. This,” he motioned to the two of them, “This is bullshit. These petty arguments and these mushy labels and these withering envious glances from across the room, that’s all bullshit to him. But if he’s still putting up with this – with you – then you must be something else.”

Fernando couldn’t come up with anything to say, only blinked blankly up at Nicklas.

“Think about it,” Nick said, as he let go of Fernando’s arm. The Spaniard shook his head as if to shake some sense into himself.

“You know, that was what I thought too right before Daniel slept with Steve Finnan?” He retorted dryly, his face placid.

Nick’s jaw dropped. “Oh. Okay. You know, I could be wrong. Happened a couple of times before.” Nick kidded to ease the tension, “You know what Cesc said. He brings the charisma. I just do the heavy-lifting.”

Fernando laughed, his hardened features momentarily softening. “Well, then, I’ll call you when I need some heavy-lifting done, then, Nick?”

“Sure thing,” Nick nodded, giving Fernando a supportive pat on the shoulder. He nodded at Daniel, as if to signal that it was alright for him to enter the kitchen already. The defender’s expression was twisted into a deep-lined scowl and it didn’t leave his face until the two had separated. Nick gave Dan a helpless smile and shrug. Meanwhile, Fernando passed coldly by Dan on his way back to the living room to bid Cesc goodbye.

As soon as they stepped out of the apartment block, the defender hailed a cab at the corner of the street. Fernando was about to protest, but Daniel only cut him off gruffly.

“You’re in no state to walk.”

Fernando frowned. He had counted his drinks, controlled his alcohol. At most, he had a hit, he didn’t need taking care of. Not from Daniel, especially. But Dan glared at him stonily, holding the cab door open for him impatiently. So, the Spaniard had no choice but to tipsily climb into the taxi, not another word exchanged between the two of them.

The hotel was only a quick 15 minutes away, but throughout the entire car ride, it seemed like the pregnant silence could only stretch on and on. All that could be heard was the old pop music wafting from the cab’s cackly stereo and the angry fuming coming from Dan. Fernando tried to ignore both as he leaned his head on the cool glass of the window, letting the streaking street lights dizzy his vision. And he must have dozed off somewhere along the way, because the next thing he knew, he was being shaken gently to wake him up. Fernando’s eyes fluttered open and all he could see was Dan peering closely at him in concern.

“Are you alright? We’re here.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Fernando blathered out, disoriented, looking around to piece it all back together in his mind: the itchy seat cover of the taxi, the gleaming hotel lobby, and Dan leaning so closely him, just one nudge and their lips would be pressed against each other’s. And he’s been waiting all fucking night for that.

“Come on,” Dan said, taking the striker by the wrist and guiding him out the car gingerly. They made their way to the lifts slowly, Dan taking charge of looking around to make sure no one in the coaching staff spotted them. Once in the elevator, Fernando let his head drop on Dan’s shoulder – just to check how the defender would react.

Dan stiffened immediately. Fernando persisted, snuggling in closer until he could smell the faint scent of Daniel’s perfume underneath the layers of cigarette smoke and alcohol. He stayed like that, until Dan found it in himself to relax a fraction and lean back on Fernando’s mop of blonde hair too.

“You said we’d pick up where we left off after the party,” Fernando said, staring straight ahead at their reflection off the elevator doors. Dan met his gaze, but he couldn’t bring himself to reply. The Spaniard snickered to himself, “Or are you going back on your word on that too?”

He lifted his eyes up at Daniel. Dan glanced down, but looked away just as fleetingly – he didn’t want to see Fernando imploring. The Spaniard sighed and went back to staring ahead, watching their reflections slowly disappear as the elevator doors opened.

*

Daniel had just closed the door, he hadn’t even reached up to switch on the lights, when he felt a blunt force on his chest pushing him back against the wall.

“I want you.” It was a husky whisper in the dark, but there was no mistaking the determined arms that wrapped around Daniel’s waist and the lean body that pressed urgently against him.

“Fer – ” Dan protested but a pair of lips immediately smothered against his, silencing the defender. And for a moment, Daniel just let his eyes slip closed as he relished the flavour of Fernando on his tongue. But the heady aftertaste of vodka that tainted the kiss brought Dan back to his senses immediately.

“Fernando, please,” Dan broke off the kiss and calmly pushed the striker away. “We can’t do this.”

“Why not?” Fernando challenged petulantly, moving in to kiss the Dane again.

“Because you’re piss-drunk and I don’t want to do that to you,” Dan removed Fernando’s arms from his waist more firmly now.

“I’m not drunk,” the Spaniard insisted with the same determination. “I want this.”

“You don’t know that.”

“You don’t either.”

Dan freed his arm and flicked open the lights. They both squinted at the sudden brightness, and Sami sleepily grunted in annoyance from the bedroom. 

“I just know that if you really want this, you’ll still want this tomorrow. When you’re sober and thinking straight. But I’m not going to take advantage of you tonight.”

“Why not?” Fernando raised an eyebrow and glared at Daniel.

“What? Is that even a question?” Dan retorted, throwing his hands in the air.

“Yes!” The striker exploded. He rattled, “What, you don’t want to hurt me? We’re talking about feelings now?”

Dan stared back at him, stunned. Fernando continued with a derisive sneer, “You didn’t seem so keen on my feelings when you rejected me in front of our friends a while ago.”

Dan winced and he struggled to explain, “Fernando, please...” He moved forward to touch the striker’s arm, but Fernando stepped away.

“Look, you can’t tell me you care about me and not own up to it at the same time,” Fernando said quietly, crossing his arms over his chest.

Dan stared at him helplessly. “I don’t know what to say.” He ran his hand through his hair and looked down, “I – I don’t know... what I want.”

Fernando felt like someone punched him in the gut – like his breath was abruptly taken away and suddenly, everything was clear for a split-second, before the pain came flooding in.

“You couldn’t have told me this earlier?” Fernando laughed sardonically. “It would have saved us both the trouble.”

“Fernando, I didn’t mean that I – ”

Fernando shook his head, and the anger in his voice was replaced by loneliness. “I hate being the one who likes you more than you like me.”

Dan hung his head hopelessly. The striker pushed past him to the bathroom, slamming the door behind him. Inside, it was quiet save for his heavy breathing echoed off the walls. He clutched his head as his temples started to hurt – the way it always did when he was on the verge of tears. But Fernando brushed it off as his hangover settling in early. He dropped to his knees and slumped over the radiator, pushing his middle finger as far back in his throat as possible, he waited for the wave of nausea and soon, he was throwing up all of his stomach’s contents.

There was a soft knock on the door, and then Daniel spoke up.

“Fernando, are you okay?”

The Spaniard gritted his teeth and spat the last of the bile from his mouth. He flushed the toilet as an answer.

“Let me in,” Daniel urged, rattling the doorknob.

“Leave me alone,” Fernando said, his throat burning with every word he choked out.

“Please?”

But the striker ignored him. He whipped off his clothes and turned on the shower, full blast, until he couldn’t hear Daniel anymore.

*

Xabi groaned and sat up, checking his mobile. Who in the world could be knocking at his door at 3 in the morning? He tried ignoring it, but it persisted, the visitor rapped at the door loudly again. Xabi threw his sheets aside grumpily and stomped to the door, eyes half-closed sleepily. On the way there, however, he collided straight into another figure in the dark. Xabi almost lost his balance and fell back, disoriented, against the desk had the other person not caught him quickly. Strong hands grasped at his hips to steady him, and Xabi knew.

“Xabi?”

Xabi smiled tiredly at the sound of that croaky, Scouse accent. “Stevie.”

“Maybe we should have switched on the bedside lamp first, yeah?” Stevie chuckled tiredly somewhere in front of him, reluctantly pulling his hands away.

“You get the lights, I’ll get the door,” Xabi proposed, disentangling himself from the captain.

“Good idea,” Stevie said.

Hiding his burning cheeks, Xabi strode to the door and yanked it open, only to be met by the sight of a very distraught blonde Spaniard.

“Oh, Niño,” Xabi immediately opened the door wider, “What’s wrong?”

Fernando smiled at him, but it was obviously forced. “I’m okay, Xabi.” He hesitated for a second, knowing that his next request might be awkward for the Basque, “Is Stevie there?”

But Xabi only nodded, beckoning for Fernando to enter, “Yeah, he’s awake. Come in.”

Stevie looked up, surprised to see Xabi and Fernando side-by-side. “What happened?” He asked, concerned. Fernando bit his lip, unsure of how to continue. “Is it alright if I stay here tonight?”

Stevie glanced over at Xabi first to check his reaction. But the Basque only nodded, and gave his ex-boyfriend a small smile, as if to say he understood.

“Come on,” Stevie said, patting the empty space on his bed. Fernando hesitantly sat down, watching as Xabi switched off the lamp, throwing the room into darkness again.

“Good night, Fernando, Stevie,” Xabi said, crawling back into his bed again.

“’Night, Xabi,” Stevie said, and Fernando didn’t miss the wistful tone in his voice.

“So, how are the two of you?” Fernando asked his captain, as they both tried to settle into the small, cramped bed. They both lay on their sides, facing each other, to save space.

“I thought the one with the problem was you,” Stevie retorted, dodging the question. He busied himself with spreading the blanket over the both of them.

“Yeah, but I don’t feel like talking about it,” Fernando said, frowning for a second as he was reminded of Daniel. He poked Stevie’s bare chest. “So, it’s your job to distract me.”

“Right. Because Xabi’s just a foot away.”

Fernando rolled his eyes, “Xabi, are you listening to us?”

“No,” the Basque replied dutifully.

“See?” Fernando laughed, feeling considerably lighter than when he was stuck in his room tossing and turning and trying to ignore the fact that Daniel was only a bed away, watching him.

“How about we talk about you first, then when you’ve sufficiently bored Xabi and he’s fallen asleep, I might talk about me?” Stevie offered.

“It’s just the usual with Daniel,” Fernando huffed as he tried to remember how exactly things came to their tipping point.

“Indecision?” Stevie asked.

“Yes. Like, he flirts with me, I take the bait, but he says, ‘Oh no, I also _genuinely_ care for you,’ but when he needs to commit to that, he bails. He’s such a motherfucking boy.”

“He’s always been like that and you know it, Nando.”

“Yes, but I thought after our first falling-out, he would have changed.”

“Just because he can’t admit that he really likes you doesn’t mean he doesn’t,” Stevie said, brushing the hair out of the young striker’s eyes. “Maybe you should just wait until he’s prepared. Or, just force the answer out of him. Whichever option you feel like taking.”

Fernando pouted, “But doesn’t it mean something that if he can’t own up to it on his own, he doesn’t like me enough?”

Stevie shrugged. “Believe what you want. If you want to hold out for his admission of love, then go ahead, but the indecision and the confusion will be something you’ll have to put up with. If you want to cut ties now, then the fact that you’ll never know what he really feels for you is something you have to live with. It’s your gamble.”

Fernando lowered his gaze and absentmindedly played with the hair cropped closely around Stevie’s ears. “I guess I’ll have to decide on that soon, right?”

“Yeah,” Stevie said, “Or else you’re prolonging your own agony.”

Fernando huffed, “Fine. But now, it’s your turn. Tell me,” the striker simply commanded.

“I don’t know,” Stevie admitted cluelessly, “How do you get over the fact that you’ve been cheated on?”

Fernando didn’t reply. He knew it was painful when Dan slept with Finns, but that was one time, and Dan was drunk and they weren’t really together. Xabi and Harry and Stevie, that was a different case altogether.

“Does it still hurt?” He asked quietly.

“Not as much as before, but yes, it does. It’s like an old wound festering,” Stevie said, his words still laced with a hint of bitterness.

“But, don’t you love him enough to be able to forgive him?” Fernando continued tentatively.

Stevie’s expression twisted, like he was struggling to keep himself placid but failing miserably, “I still can’t get myself to understand how he could have knowingly led me on. I asked him a couple of times what was wrong, what was going on, whether there was something he wanted to tell me. He denied me all those times. Maybe I could have forgiven him if he just admitted it, but I had to find out myself.”

“But all those times you asked and he lied, you never suspected him?”

“No!”

“The math lessons and the trips to the library?” Fernando asked, nose wrinkled in disbelief.

“Of course not!”

“You know I don’t agree with what Xabi did – far from it. But maybe it’s also possible that just as much as he lied to you, you were also just as desperate to believe what he said. Maybe it’s not just Xabi that allowed for this, this thing to build up into a big mistake.”

Stevie scowled, and Fernando hurriedly tried to explain more, “Besides, you know Xabi. He didn’t try to pin the blame on anyone else, he owned up to his mistake completely, absolutely. And he seems like he’s sincerely apologetic. Maybe you should give him a second chance.”

“You gave Daniel a second chance and look what happened.”

“Do you believe in Xabi more than you believe in Daniel?” Fernando countered.

Stevie sighed and grudgingly nodded.

“Obviously, I’m not forcing you to do anything. I just want to put the idea out there so you can give it some thought,” Fernando said, smiling up at Stevie.

The captain stared at the sheets intently, “Even if we do get back together, I feel like I’ve given up everything I could during our relationship and that still wasn’t enough for him. He still looked for Harry Kewell. What else do I have to give to keep him honest?”

Fernando smiled and shook his head. “If you were in the biggest game of your life, and it’s at 1-1 at full time, sure, you’ve given everything you have for the past 90 minutes, but what else are you willing to give up during extra time to make sure you win?”

“That’s different – ”

“What else, Stevie?”

The Scouser groaned. “Whatever I have left.”

Fernando smiled. “That’s what the Stevie I know would have said.”

Stevie shifted in bed to get a better look of the young striker. “Why are you trying so hard to convince me to get back together with Xabi?”

Fernando slung an arm around Stevie’s neck, and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. When he pulled away, Stevie looked stunned, but Fernando only shot him a giddy grin.

“I just want you to be in love again.”


	15. Ours is a stormy kind of love

“Daniel, are you awake?”

Daniel’s eyes flew open at the sound of Sami calling him, and he squinted at the sunlight bursting into their room. He groaned, and brought the sheets up to cover his head. “Five more minutes, Sami.”

“Dan, where’s Fernando?” Sami asked again, worry evident in his tone.

Dan threw the covers aside and stared at the Finn, discombobulated. “What?”

“His bed doesn’t look slept in, and I doubt he woke up earlier than me because I was up at 5 and he wasn’t here.” Sami explained.

Dan bolted up, ignoring the dull pain in his head screaming at him to get some more sleep. “He’s not here? He was here when we – shit.”

“What do you mean?” Sami raised a suspicious eyebrow.

“We went out last night. We got back here safe, but he was slightly drunk and we fought and maybe...” Dan trailed off.

“And maybe he left?” Sami pressed, eyes widening.

“Oh, fuck,” Dan fell against his headboard, his hand against his forehead as a million horrible ideas flew through his mind. What if Fernando went out again in the dead of the night in that state? What if something horrible had happened to him? Why didn’t he notice him sneaking out?

“Okay, calm down,” Sami immediately intervened, seeing the dread on Dan’s face. “He couldn’t have gotten far, I doubt Fernando is that stupid. Maybe he just went to Pepe’s room.”

“Right, right,” Dan nodded absently, still shocked.

“Dan,” Sami said loudly, slapping the side of his face to get his attention, “Snap out of it. I’ll check Pepe’s room, you go to Stevie and Carra and tell them what happened. We’ll check the others’ rooms too, and when he’s not there, let’s go to Rafa. Is it clear?”

Dan nodded fervently and he immediately scrambled out of bed, followed closely by Sami.

Dan’s heart was pounding loudly against his ribcage as he walked to the captain’s room. It felt like it took forever for anyone to answer his knocking.

A few rooms down, he could see Sami shouting at Pepe from outside, “Is Fernando there?” He was answered by an angry no and what sounded like a shoe being thrown at the door to get Sami to leave them to sleep.

Finally, the door Dan was knocking on flew open and an angry Carra shouted, “WHAT?”

Dan was taken aback but he answered quickly, “Don’t kill me, but Fernando and I went out last night after curfew and we got drunk and now he’s missing and we can’t find him.”

Carra blinked, “Are you fucking shitting me?”

“No,” Dan meekly replied. “I need your help to find him.”

“You’re shitting me,” Carra shook his head.

“No! Carra, this is serious, for fuck’s sake.” Dan cried out, beginning to panic.

“Well, for fuck’s sake, Agger, he’s right here, what the bloody hell is wrong with you?” Carra yelled back.

Dan stared, dumbfounded. Carra rolled his eyes and tugged the younger defender inside. He resolutely pointed at Stevie’s bed and said, “There. Happy?”

Dan gawked. That mop of unruly blonde hair was unmistakable, but he couldn’t process how Fernando was curled up against Stevie’s chest, with the midfielder wrapping an arm around the boy.

“...He was here last night?” Dan asked Carra, still not being able to take his eyes off the two.

“Yes.” Carra gruffly answered, “And no, I don’t want to hear whatever sad story you two have gone through. So, if there’s nothing else, please go. I’ll see you at the team breakfast.”

Dan nodded and he dazedly walked back to the corridor. Sami spotted him and asked, “Any luck?”

“Yeah, he’s in there,” Dan answered, jutting his thumb towards Carra’s room. “With Stevie.”

“Oh,” Sami said, disappointed. He looked like he wanted to ask more, but the Finn stopped himself, seeing the frown etched on the Dane’s face. “Come on, let’s just go back to our room then. You’ll get to talk to him later.”

*

Daniel was in a foul mood. He grumbled all throughout breakfast, snapped at anyone who asked him what was wrong, refused to have anyone sit down next to him on the bus back to Liverpool, and now, he was the first one off during the pit stop, staking claim of the smokers’ pocket.

“So, I heard about the fight,” Xabi said, leaning against the door of the lounge and staring down at Daniel on the bench.

The defender glared at him furiously. “And people ask me why I don’t like coming clean with my feelings. The rumour mill in this squad is crazy.”

Xabi rolled his eyes. He explained patronizingly, “I hate to break it to you, but whether you’re together with Fernando or not, people are going to talk about you. So if the harms are equal on both scenarios, why not just get together with him? At least then, you would get some and you could stop acting like such a miserable twat.”

Dan dug out a box of cigarettes from his backpack, pulled out a stick and lit it. He snapped at Xabi, “I don’t need your fucking advice.”

“Too bad,” Xabi laughed, sitting down next to Dan, “You need it, since you can’t seem to stop acting like such an idiot.”

Dan scowled, purposefully puffing the smoke against Xabi’s face. The Basque didn’t even flinch. “Did you come here for any other reason than to insult me?”

“Yes,” Xabi said, smiling sweetly, as he snatched the packet of cigarettes from the defender’s lap. He took a stick without permission and lit it as well with Daniel’s lighter. “I needed a smoke. So, thanks.”

Dan shook his head in disbelief. “I thought you quit.”

“I quit when Stevie told me to. We’re not together anymore.” Xabi coolly answered. They both gazed to where the rest of the boys were buying food and drinks from the stalls. Stevie was by the vending machine, but it looked like he was more intent on watching Xabi than he was on choosing which soda to buy.

“He looks furious that you’re lighting up,” Dan smirked.

“He can’t do anything about it,” Xabi said, taking another long drag from the cigarette, staring shamelessly back at Stevie. “He knows he has no hold over me anymore. And it’s driving him crazy.”

“I thought you wanted him back,” Dan said, tapping the excess ash off his cig.

“Of course I do.”

“So why are you sitting here trying to rile him up?”

“I’m just giving him all the space he wants until he realizes he doesn’t want that space.” Xabi said confidently. “It’s reverse psychology.”

“Can’t I just do the same to Fernando? Distance myself from him until he stops this psychological torture he’s inflicted on himself and he comes back to me?” Dan asked.

Xabi raised an eyebrow, “In case you didn’t notice, I had a relationship with Stevie. You _still_ have no relationship with Fernando to speak of. So, no, we’re not comparable.”

“Why are you being such a bitch?”

“Why are you being such a retard?” Xabi retorted.

“I don’t understand why people are forcing me to become some sappy romantic.”

“I don’t think Fernando’s forcing you to be sentimental and clingy. I think it’s just a matter of honesty. Do you want to be in a relationship with him or not?”

“I don’t like relationships.” Dan deadpanned. “I don’t like being tied down or having to do stupid things like asking permission for things I have to do and people I have to meet. I don’t like being required to constantly share my life with someone else and worry about how the other person feels.”

Xabi shook his head, smiling wryly. “If that’s how you feel, why do you want Fernando back? Shouldn’t you be happy that you’re free now?”

Dan’s jaw dropped. “That’s different!”

“How is it different?” Xabi asked, looking anything but convinced.

“I just want things to go back to the way they were,” Dan frowned.

“So, you flirt again, sleep with each other, say, once or twice, and then? Where does it go?” Xabi asked.

“Why does it have to go somewhere? Why can’t it be a purely harmless thing we share?” Dan demanded in frustration.

“Why would anyone want to go be with someone who just takes and doesn’t give back?” Xabi replied, slapping the side of Dan’s head to get some sense into him. The defender scowled and rubbed the spot where Xabi hit him.

Xabi continued, “Finns may have been patient enough to deal with your non-commitment. He is your best friend after all. Until now, he’s still patiently waiting for the scraps to fall off your table. But I doubt Fernando’s going to stay around, waiting for you to decide whether you want him enough.” Xabi stopped to take another drag from his cigarette before smiling at the defender, “The question is, will you be able to handle it if he leaves you?”

Dan growled but didn’t answer.

Xabi threw his cigarette on the ashtray then goaded Dan, “Do you want to know what happened between him and Stevie last night?”

Dan scoffed, “You’re lying. You wouldn’t have stood for it if they fooled around.”

Xabi shrugged nonchalantly. He raised an eyebrow, “I could have joined, you know.”

Dan stared at him, aghast. “Shut up, Alonso.”

Xabi laughed and stood up, “Thanks for the smoke, Agger.”

*

Harry heard a pair of keys jangling and his heart stopped beating. “Oh, shit,” the Australian said, disentangling himself from Finns. “Wait a second.”

Finns rolled over on his side, trying to catch his breath, “What’s wrong?”

“Stay there. And zip up your pants,” Harry ordered over his shoulder as he stalked to the door, flinging it open. Fernando stood outside, room keys halfway through the doorknob.

“Fernando! You’re back early!” Harry said, and it sounded more like an accusation than a greeting.

“Yeah, there was no traffic,” Fernando grumbled, wrestling with his bags through the door, “Now there’s nothing I want more than to crash into my own bed and then die.”

“Um,” Harry laughed weakly, “You can’t.”

“What?” Fernando snapped, his temper running short.

Harry blocked the doorway with both arms and smiled sweetly, “I’m kind of busy right now.”

“What? No! I’m tired and I want to sleep!” Fernando half-screamed, his face scrunching and his voice thickening dangerously – the sure signs of a tantrum impending.

Harry tried again, “How about you just give me five minutes?”

“Make him or her leave. Now.” Fernando ordered stonily.

“I will!” Harry said, grimacing. “But, well, close your eyes.”

“What?” Fernando spluttered, “Are you fucking out of your mind?”

“Just – Just turn around for five seconds or something!”

“Fucking hell, Harry,” Fernando threw his hands up in the air in exasperation. “Get out of my way.”

“No.” Harry said, standing by the door, “Trust me, this might be for your own good.”

Fernando scowled, and gripping his stroller, he rolled it forcefully inside his room until Harry had to jump out of the way or be run over.

“Ha!” Fernando said triumphantly, stepping inside before the Australian could close the door on him. He made his way to the bedroom to peer at Harry’s visitor, “Honestly, Harry, I don’t understand what could be so bad with – ”

Finns covered himself with Harry’s blanket as he grinned up sheepishly at Fernando, “Oh. Hi there.”

Fernando froze, eyes bulged out and jaw dropped. He stared from a half-naked Finns to a humiliated Harry. He took a deep breath to steady himself, waiting for the shock to subside.

“Please leave,” he said, smiling tightly at Finns. And turning around to face his roommate, he glared murderously, “You’ve reached an all-time low.”

“I’m going, I’m going,” Finns said, jumping to his feet and rooting around the floor for his shirt and jacket.

“I told you to wait for just five seconds. But no, you had to be a stubborn little prick. So, don’t blame me for this,” Harry warned Fernando, pushing his luggage inside the closet.

“Oh, god, the image of you two is just burned into my brain,” Fernando moaned, collapsing on his bed.

“We didn’t do it on your bed,” Harry said generously.

“And technically, we haven’t done _it_ yet,” Finns clarified. “We were just... experimenting.”

“Yeah, we got bored while you guys were out for the weekend,” Harry explained.

Fernando kicked off his shoes then toed off his socks, “Well, lucky you.”

Harry shook his head and tsked, “I take it nothing happened with the romantic weekend getaway?”

Fernando scowled at Finns’ direction, “Ask your best friend.”

Finns glanced at the Spaniard sympathetically, “Welcome to my world.”

“Great, I’m stuck in a room of Daniel-worshippers. Make me gag,” Harry said, rolling his eyes.

“What is it now?” Finns asked, “The mixed signals? The flightiness? The refusal to admit mistakes?”

“Can I answer that it’s all of the above?” Fernando grumbled.

Harry groaned. “For crying out loud, it’s ridiculously simple! You,” he pointed at the sulking Fernando on his bed, “Find someone else who doesn’t treat you like shit. And stat. Meanwhile, you,” he faced the now fully-clothed Finns, “I’ll meet you tomorrow, hmm?”

Finns blushed and nodded, right before Harry tugged him close to kiss him deeply. He moaned softly when Harry slipped his tongue into his mouth, licking tenderly and exploring.

“Oh, god, my eyes!” Fernando wailed, throwing his jacket at them. “Stop it, please!”

The two pulled away reluctantly, and Finns waved at the Spaniard on his way out, “Bye, Nando. See you tomorrow, Harry.”

“And tell your best friend to go and fuck himself!” Fernando yelled after him.

Harry sighed and sat on the Spaniard’s bed. “Bad day?”

“Will I really have to get used to the fact that you’re with Finns now?” Fernando asked, wrinkling his nose.

“Maybe?” Harry shrugged, smiling secretively. “It’s nothing serious, we’re just fooling around. But, you never know.”

Fernando shook his head, kicking Harry off his bed, “You couldn’t choose someone else? You know, you _are_ allowed to shag someone outside my circle of friends. Just in case you didn’t get the memo.”

“Oh, it’s more fun to torture you,” Harry said, rubbing his hands together wickedly. “The way you think the entire world is conspiring against you is utterly hilarious.”

*

Fernando peered outside the windows of the locker room after training. It looked like rain – heavy rain. The clouds were an ominous dark gray, hanging low in the sky. He better hurry out before he got caught in the downpour.

Tossing his boots in his locker and slamming it closed, he zipped up his bag and prepared to leave. Halfway out the tunnel, however, Rafa called his name from his office. “Shit,” he cursed to himself as he pushed open the glass door and entered.

“Hi, Rafa,” he greeted politely, his knee jiggling impatiently.

Rafa smiled at him, “Where are you off to, Fernando?”

“Oh, I’m heading back home early today,” the striker replied obediently, and Rafa’s smile grew bigger.

“I don’t think so, Fernando.” Rafa folded his hands over his desk, “You’re serving detention today.”

Fernando did a double-take, “Excuse me? But I – I didn’t get any detention slip in any of my classes today, Rafa.”

“You get one from me,” Rafa said, handing over the yellow piece of paper to Fernando, smile unwavering. Taking shaky steps towards the manager, Fernando reached for the detention slip and read its contents.

“Sami told me you slipped out during our stay in London. You’ve been told this was against the rules,” Rafa explained. He shook his head and frowned, “I expected more from you, Fernando.”

Fernando felt a wave of shame consume him as he hung his head, “I’m sorry, Rafa. It won’t happen again.”

“It shouldn’t,” Rafa said curtly. He motioned to the door, “Mr Ayesteran, the detention monitor, will be waiting for you in Room 214.”

Fernando nodded. He asked before heading out, “Is there anything else, Rafa?”

Rafa filtered through his papers before looking up at Fernando, “Yes. Can you call in Daniel on your way out?”

The striker almost choked. “Daniel?”

Rafa blinked obliviously. “Yes, Daniel.” The manager produced another yellow slip and explained, “Sami said you left the hotel with him last Saturday night, so you’ll be serving detention together.”

Fernando stared at the detention slip in Rafa’s hands, dumbstruck.

“Is there a problem, Fernando?”

Fernando forced a smile as he took Daniel’s detention slip with shaking hands. “No. Nothing, Rafa. Everything’s great,” the striker answered dazedly.

“Good,” Rafa said, smiling widely again. “Detention, then, Fernando. And I hope you and Daniel learn your lesson.”

*

It was the kind of rain that fell down in huge drops, making mud splatter against leather shoes and pelting hard against exposed skin. It was the kind of rain that came down in solid sheets, it was almost hard to see ten metres ahead of you. And it was also the kind of rain that was just the worst time to forget to bring an umbrella.

Which was why Stevie stood by the school entrance cursing himself. He had woken up late that morning, grabbed an apple of the kitchen counter and bolted to school, forgetting everything from his Biology homework to his lunch money – practically everything but his football boots.

He tried to calculate how far he could run without catching pneumonia and having to miss the Saturday clash against Portsmouth. He figured: halfway to the bus stop. Which meant he was stuck here until the rain let up – which didn’t look like it was going to, anytime soon.

“Oh, what the fuck, Gerrard,” Stevie muttered to himself, throwing his hands up in the air. “It’s just water. Surely, it can’t be that bad.”

Clutching his bag to his chest and taking a deep breath, Stevie lunged forward into the open, sprinting as carefully as he could without slipping. He was drenched in less than a second, and Stevie wryly asked himself whether there was even any point in trying to hurry now that he was wet anyway.

“Are you fucking crazy?” A voice yelled to his ear from out of nowhere.

Stevie would have replied, “God?” But he knew that heavily accented voice anywhere. He remembered always snickering that with that accent, it hardly sounded like the man was cursing.

“I could ask you the fucking same thing!” Stevie yelled back at Xabi, more to be audible than anything else really.

Xabi could hardly keep his umbrella over both of their heads, much less keep it upright with the wind blowing it in all directions. Gripping Stevie’s shoulder solidly, Xabi kept them both huddled under the small cover really intended for one person. Stevie bit back a small smile as he wondered whether this was all just a clever scheme on the part of the Basque to get them to at least breathe the same air for once.

“Come on, Xabi, you don’t need to do this,” Stevie said, grudgingly admitting to himself that he relished the feeling of having their elbows bump against each other as they ran side by side, or having their hands brush against each other as they held on to a wildly-swaying brolly.

“Can you just stop talking for once?” Xabi hit back, trying to concentrate on jumping over puddles. His usually shiny, well-kept shoes were ruined.

Stevie’s jaw dropped and that happy feeling buzzing in his chest immediately disappeared. He thought of yelling something like, “leave me alone” or “I didn’t ask for your motherfucking help,” but he stopped himself. Because, really, drama under the pouring rain would just be too cliché.

So he just held his tongue and shut up. After all, it wasn’t a good idea to argue with the person who owned the umbrella.

They came to the intersection and Stevie turned left to go to the bus stop. Xabi followed him. The Scouser turned around and placed a light touch on Xabi’s hand, surprising them both.

“Where are you going?” Stevie stopped walking.

“To bring you to the waiting shed?” Xabi asked back impatiently. The last time he checked, the ultimate goal was to not get wet and standing in the rain pointlessly was not doing the job.

“Your place is that way.” Stevie stubbornly pointed to the other direction.

“The bus stop is this way,” Xabi pointed down the road they were in.

“Yeah, so we go our separate ways!”

“Are you trying to be symbolic? Because it’s not funny.”

“No!” Stevie snapped back. He coughed and tried again, gentler this time, “No, I’ve already hassled you enough.”

Xabi rolled his eyes, “Which is why it doesn’t matter whether I walk another couple of metres out of the way, I’m already soaked anyway.”

Stevie stopped and thought of something to say. It was a familiar predicament trying to think of a counter-argument when the Basque sounded so sensible.

“You’re doing it again!” Stevie accused.

“Doing what?” Xabi’s jaw dropped in disbelief.

“Doing that thing where you’re using this slow, nonsensical tone when really, you’re just mocking me.”

“Stevie, you’re fucking insane.” Xabi said in a slow and nonsensical tone.

“See?!”

Okay, now he lost it. Xabi shut his umbrella and whacked Stevie on the side with it. “Shut up!”

“Ow! Hey! Put that thing back up!”

Xabi scowled, hitting Stevie again for good measure – “Ow! Bloody hell, Alonso! Fine, you win!” – before he opened his umbrella again over them both.

“Now, will you shut up?” Xabi demanded. “You always have to make things harder for both of us.”

“Fine!” Stevie retorted petulantly, resisting the urge to stick out his tongue or sucker punch the Basque. It was not fair he had a sharp, dangerous object to his advantage.

Xabi and Stevie marched down the street in stony silence, but when the thunder clapped loudly above them they both jumped. The rain fell harder, and they both didn’t think that was possible.

Stevie sighed, and against his better judgment, he grabbed Xabi’s wrist and turned them both around.

“What now?” Xabi asked in exasperation.

“Maybe I should bring you to your flat first,” Stevie mumbled, staring straight ahead.

Xabi’s eyebrows raised. “Why? We’re practically ten seconds away from the bus stop.”

“The rain’s getting harder,” Stevie kicked a pebble down the curb, refusing to meet Xabi’s gaze. “I want to make sure you get home safe.”

Well, that was unexpected.

Xabi nodded, and they both walked up the street to Xabi’s flat without another word being said.

*

“Staying in school late?” Harry said, stopping by a certain Irishman’s school locker.

Finns looked up from rearranging his books, and he couldn’t help himself from returning Harry’s sunshine grin. “Yeah, it’s raining like crazy outside, so I thought I should just stay here first and check out the different student organizations before heading home.”

Harry shrugged nonchalantly, “Care for a guide?”

Finns felt the corners of his mouth twitching upwards as he saw that glint in the Australian’s eyes. “Maybe? What does the guide do?”

Harry closed Finns’ locker for him and took his wrist, “Well, I happen to be an expert on extra-curricular activities. You’re in good hands, baby.”

Finns laughed as Harry purposefully dragged him down the corridor and up a flight of stairs. “Where are you taking me?”

“You know, there are a lot of groups out there that look good on the college application form, but they aren’t really going to be much fun: the chess team, the debate team, the Mathletes. And I doubt you want to spend your last weeks in school trying to discover what a quark is.”

“Uh-huh,” Finns answered, “So, where are we heading?”

Harry stopped by a door and nodded inside. “You feel like taking up Film? You do nothing but sit in a dark, air-conditioned room for a few hours and watch erotica in a different language, and the college scouts will think you’re a highly-cultured art lover.”

Finns burst out laughing, “Sounds like a good idea. How do I apply?”

Harry frowned, twisting open the doorknob, “It’s rather tough. You might need basic knowledge on film genres and movements and also, some background on cinematography.”

The Irishman’s face paled. “I don’t know shit about those things, Harry!”

Harry sighed and ushered Finns inside. The room was still empty, and the note on the board said the meeting would start at 5:30 – a good half hour from now.

“Well,” Harry began, shutting the door behind him to keep the room cold, “If you know the Film president, you might be able to pull some strings and try to get in easy...?”

Finns scratched his chin unsurely, “I guess so. Who’s the president?”

A pair of hands began to deftly work at Finns’ necktie immediately, and Harry grinned against his lips, whispering, “Me.”

*

“So.”

“So.”

Stevie always prided himself as confrontational, but right now, his throat just felt dry and scratchy, his eyes refused to look at Xabi and his heart slammed against his ribcage wildly.

Xabi fidgeted by his doorstep, focusing on shaking the water from his hair.

“Is it okay if I borrow your umbrella? I’ll return it to you tomorrow in school,” Stevie blurted out.

“Sure,” Xabi replied hollowly.

Stevie pursed his lips and nodded. “Okay, I guess I should go.”

“Yeah,” Xabi echoed.

Stevie turned around and opened the umbrella again, sending tiny droplets of water flying. He had taken three steps down the driveway when he stopped again to face the Basque.

“Xabi,” he said. “Thanks.”

An ache formed in Xabi’s chest at the sudden realization that this was not his anymore. He managed to smile and nod in reply.

Stevie turned on his heel and paced down the driveway again, staring down at the asphalt.

“Stevie!”

This disgustingly hopeful surge bloomed in Stevie. He looked over his shoulder to see Xabi coming down the steps after him.

“Do you want to come in?” Xabi asked.

Stevie opened his mouth to answer but couldn’t decide whether to say yes or no.

“I mean, maybe you could at least get a change of clothes or take a hot meal,” Xabi babbled, his hands gesturing wildly the way they always did when he got nervous, “Or at least wait for the rain to let up a little.”

And Stevie didn’t know what was more annoying: Xabi’s endless chatter or Stevie’s urge to kiss him to make him stop.

“Just,” Xabi took a deep breath to calm himself down. “Stay for a while.”

Throwing all caution to the wind, Stevie nodded. “Okay.”

*

“Sami Hyypia, I’m going to fucking kill you!” Daniel raged, marching up to the Finn who was calmly putting his track bottoms inside his bag.

“Hmm?” Sami looked up, blinking innocently.

“You set me up!”

“That I did,” Sami nodded, smiling serenely and it only infuriated the Dane even more.

“WHY?” He spluttered out.

Sami stood up to his full height, immediately dwarfing the younger defender. “I want you to fix this.”

Daniel didn’t reply, only pursed his lips into a firm line.

“Look, Daniel, the school year’s about to end, and really, do you want it to end this way? You spent a good eight months chasing this boy.”

“Well, it’s over,” Dan grunted, looking away.

“Not yet,” Sami coaxed. “One last time, Dan. Come on. If this doesn’t work, I promise to stop meddling in your love lives.”

“I’m not good with these things!” Dan yelped. “Apologies, flowers, chocolates, sappy love things.”

Sami laughed, “I think Fernando knew what type of person he was dealing from the moment you met.”

Dan frowned, “It didn’t work before.”

Sami thumped Dan’s back encouragingly, “I believe in you. Third time’s a charm, remember?”

*

It was so warm inside the Alonso house, Stevie suddenly realised he was shivering badly.

“Sorry,” the Scouser said, moving around in a small circle, to check the tracks he left. “I’m dripping all over your floor.”

“It’s okay.” Xabi attempted an easy laugh as he laid out his wet (and fated) umbrella to dry. He coughed and offered unsurely, “If you want, I could lend you a couple of things so you can get out of your wet clothes.” He continued, averting his gaze to the window to watch the rain raging outside, “I think you still have a couple of shirts you’ve left here.”

“Oh.” Stevie replied quietly, staring at the mantelpiece pointedly to avoid Xabi’s eyes. “Thanks. I guess.”

“XABIER!” A booming voice suddenly came from the kitchen as Mikel strode out angrily. “ _Dios mio_ , you know how terrible the weather is. You didn’t even bother to call me or text me to tell me if you were alright or if you were on your way home. I didn’t know if you could walk back here, I didn’t know whether I should just pick you up in campus. What did I tell you to do during emergencies? Mama and Papa will kill me if – ”

Xabi stepped into the hallway to meet his brother. “Hi, Mikel.”

“And you’re soaking wet! What entered your mind this time – ”

“Hi, Mikel,” Stevie emerged from behind Xabi and gave the older Alonso a small, embarrassed wave.

Mikel stopped in his tracks, shell-shocked.

“Oh,” he stammered. “I – I didn’t know you were bringing Stevie home with you, Xabi.”

“Stevie just dropped me off,” Xabi hastily explained, his cheeks burning.

“Oh,” Mikel said again. “You didn’t have to really, I could’ve just picked up Xabi from school or something,” he trailed off, wondering why even he was feeling awkward about this situation.

“No, it’s nothing,” Stevie smiled politely. “I’ve done it a dozen times before, it was almost... instinctive, really.”

“Right,” Mikel answered.

“Yes.” Stevie nodded.

“Okay.” Xabi echoed.

“I think I’ll head up to my room. And stay there. For a long time.” Mikel announced loudly, breaking the tense silence. Xabi groaned inwardly at his brother’s non-subtlety.

“Great seeing you again, Stevie,” Mikel said, sounding genuinely pleased. “It’s been a while”

Stevie sheepishly nodded. Xabi cleared his throat, “Come on, let’s get changed. The bathroom’s inside my bedroom.”

‘I know,’ Stevie almost answered automatically, but he bit his lip instead and nodded. Suddenly, he felt a heavy weight settling on his shoulders. It vaguely resembled regret. When he offered to bring Xabi home, it had been, as he said, instinctive. A force of habit. One he had to unlearn.

But now that he was here, in the Alonso flat. With Mikel. And Xabi. In all its warmth and familiarity. It became infinitely harder to remember – and to be convinced – that he had to let go of these things.

“Stevie?” Xabi cut off his train of thought with a light touch on his arm. Stevie’s head whipped up and the dilemma was obvious in his strained expression.

“Let’s go?” Xabi coaxed tentatively.

The conflicting thoughts raged on in the back of his mind, but Stevie followed Xabi upstairs nevertheless.

*

By the time Fernando got to the detention hall, Daniel was already there, perched on the window sill and smoking out the window. He was puffing quickly, finishing sticks in record time – the way he always did when he was nervous. Daniel looked up when Fernando entered, and his gaze stuck to the Spaniard and never left him for a second.

Fernando tried not to feel self-conscious as he took a seat and opened his notebook. He forced himself to read his notes, rewrite his assignments, anything, but he knew he was being watched. Where the hell was the detention monitor?

There was a knock on the door, and Fernando felt himself relax a bit. Dan hopped off the ledge immediately, throwing all his cigarette butts out the window unceremoniously. However, when they both looked up, it wasn’t Mr Ayesteran who had entered, it was actually Sami Hyypia.

“Hi, guys. I told Mr Ayesteran that Rafa had to speak to him about a very urgent matter, so it might take him some time to get here,” Sami explained, popping his blonde head into the room.

Fernando raised an eyebrow. “Rafa’s left.”

Sami’s jaw dropped comically. “Really?”

“Sami, come on,” Dan retorted dryly, approaching the Finn by the door.

“Don’t ‘Sami, come on’ me,” Sami snatched the packet of cigarettes from Dan’s breast pocket. “And I didn’t conspire this entire thing so you could smoke an entire chain of Dunhill Lites. So, get to it!”

Dan winced, but Sami locked the door and shut it behind him. Taking a deep breath, the Dane turned around and faced Fernando, who had buried his nose in his notebook. He dragged the seat in front of Fernando around so he could face the Spaniard.

“Fernando.”

The striker didn’t look up.

Sighing, Daniel cleared his throat to try again, but Fernando didn’t even flinch. Then, against all reason, Daniel reached out his hand and tentatively ran his fingers over the striker’s pale cheek. Fernando moved away a second too late.

Daniel leaned in closer, gripping the edges of Fernando’s desk. He placed his lips on Fernando’s cheek softly – too quickly, it might not even count for a kiss.

“I’m sorry.” Daniel murmured, tilting Fernando’s chin up so he could meet his lips for a proper kiss. They kissed once, twice, gently, then lingered.

“I don’t know why I did the things I did, but I do know that I’m sorry I hurt you,” Dan said, pulling away.

Fernando looked at his shivering fingers and he wondered why he was so weak. Just a few pretty words and he was a quivering puddle. He steeled himself and met Dan’s gaze.

“No.” He stood up and walked away – he didn’t trust himself so near the defender. He marched up to the teacher’s table until there was an entire room between him and Daniel.

Dan didn’t seem to catch it or understand, so Fernando spoke up louder, “Fuck off. That was the same apology you gave me last time.”

Dan’s jaw dropped. “Hey, I meant what I said – ” but the striker cut him off furiously.

“When you slept with Finns, I knew I was in no position to feel hurt,” Fernando yelled out, pointing an accusing finger at the Dane from across the room, “I didn’t need an explanation, much less an apology. I could have walked away there and then, but you stopped me.”

He spat out with a bitter laugh, “You told me it was a mistake. You insisted this was different. And I believed you.

“But whenever we get to where we were before, you stop and you hesitate and you chicken out again. You keep second-guessing and I keep wondering why I bothered with this in the first place!”

Fernando stopped shouting and shook his head angrily, “You’re a real fucker, Agger. I shouldn’t have to wear my heart on my sleeve for you.”

Dan gaped at the Spaniard who stood in front, hands on his hips, cheeks red, chest heaving, eyes blazing wildly.  
He was downright shocked at the gall of Fernando’s hysterical tirade. It was so arrogant. So conflated. So high and mighty. And most despicable of all, so self-righteous.

But he’d be damned if it didn’t turn him on.

*

Stevie wrapped a towel tightly around his hips and folded his wet clothes on the sink of Xabi’s bathroom. Staring at his reflection in the mirror, he tried to muster a brave smile. After a moment, he finally stepped back into Xabi’s bedroom.

Only to catch Xabi in the middle of dressing up.

“Holy shit.” Stevie cursed, taking an involuntary step back.

“Oh, fuck,” Xabi cursed as well, whipping around, and pulling on his briefs quickly up his legs.

“Jesus, sorry, I – I didn’t know, I thought you were – ” Stevie stammered, eyes fixated at Xabi as he tried to come up with a decent sentence. “And I didn’t have any clean clothes, so I thought maybe I could – ”

“No, it’s alright, I shouldn’t have...” Xabi trailed off incoherently, trying not to stare at Stevie’s fit body glistening with droplets of water and his hair sticking out in strange brown tufts and that man was just an incomprehensible mix of sex and awkwardness, Xabi was torn between feeling endeared and excited.

Xabi shook his head vigorously to get some sense into himself. He padded to his closet and took out a pair of jeans and a shirt that Stevie had left before when he still used to sleep over.

“Here,” he said, handing it over to the Scouser. “These are yours.”

Stevie reached out, making sure their fingers lightly brushed against each other’s as he took the clothes from Xabi. “I almost forgot these were still with you.”

Xabi averted his gaze uncomfortably, “This was when we celebrated Mikel’s birthday here. You bought him the new Real Sociedad kit, and he grudgingly allowed you to stay over that night because he loved your gift so much.”

Stevie chuckled softly, “Yeah, I didn’t forget that.”

Xabi bit his lip, and Stevie could see in the way his eyes glimmered dangerously with unshed tears how lost and torn he felt inside.

“Stevie, we were so good together.”

Stevie smiled just as wistfully as he nodded, “Yes. Yes, we were.”

They both stared at each other for a long time, as if trying to see if anything had changed in the time they had spent apart. As if trying to memorize the things they might not have again.

“I want to kiss you so badly right now,” Stevie murmured, fists clenched as he forced himself to stay his ground.

“Please.” Xabi called out softly. “Please do.”

*

He had just blinked and suddenly, they were kissing. He vaguely remembered some distance between them, some reluctance, even. But the next thing he knew, he was pressed up against the teacher’s table and he was being kissed and he couldn’t find it in himself to not kiss back when he’s wanted this for so long.

“Daniel,” Fernando gasped, pushing the defender away for a second so he could speak, but Dan only moved to kiss his jaw, his neck, anything he could reach. He let out a little whimper, feeling Dan’s tongue run a hot trail along his sweaty skin.

“Do you want this?” Dan asked, eyes dark, one hand firm underneath the striker’s blazer, grasping at the thin fabric of his button-down, another hand brushing the hair from Fernando’s eyes. Fernando could not stop himself from arching into to the touch.

The Spaniard didn’t answer, only warned shakily, “This doesn’t change anything,” then watched with bated breath as Dan tugged at his necktie then undid his buttons.

*

The garments fell to the floor with the most feeble of sounds – in one sweep, Xabi’s underwear, in another deft move, Stevie’s damp towel.

For a long time, the two midfielders just stood face to face, taking in the sight. It felt like the first time they had decided to sleep together – slow, careful, measured. Stevie reluctantly reached out and he tentatively let his palms run over the cool skin of Xabi’s shoulders, then down his arms, then taking his hands into his.

“Are you sure?” Xabi almost didn’t want to ask in case it ruined the spell, but Stevie only nodded briefly but determinedly.

Xabi took advantage of their linked hands to gently tug the Scouser to his bed. He lay down below him and tried to calm his breathing, while Stevie continued his exploration. Fingers nimbly running over sensitive skin – along collarbones, to the planes of chest and the cuts of the torso. Stevie’s hands came to rest on Xabi’s hips and he marvelled at how perfectly they have always fit around the Basque’s sides.

“Exes or not,” Stevie glanced up awkwardly at Xabi before giving him a small, lopsided smile, “I’ve missed you something terrible, Alonso.”

Xabi laughed and it felt so light in his chest. “At least we’re starting to agree on things again.”

Stevie let his knuckles brush over the Basque’s prominent hipbones and Xabi hissed. Stevie raised an eyebrow, as if to ask for permission, and Xabi nodded impatiently. It felt like the air was being sharply sucked out of Xabi’s lungs the lower the Scouser’s fingers travelled down his body.

*

Daniel’s fingers playfully darted beyond the waistband of Fernando’s slacks, and the Spaniard had to grip the edges of the table steadily to prepare himself. Soon, Dan dropped to his knees in one swift move, hands expertly working at the belt buckle, clasps and zipper all the while.

Fernando whimpered as his erection was freed from his clothing and as the stale classroom air hit the sensitive skin. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he vaguely heard Dan breathe an anticipatory “finally.” Then, his vision disappeared altogether as an unbelievably hot mouth wrapped around the head of his cock and a tongue adventurously fondled at it.

The Spaniard blinked his eyes open and his gaze immediately fell upon Dan licking fervently along the underside of his shaft. He cursed loudly and Dan grinned around his cock, sending tiny little tickling vibrations along with it.

“Dan, I – I can’t,” Fernando tried to get air in his lungs to verbalize the words, but he couldn’t. So instead, he gripped the back of Dan’s head and pushed it deeper – the universal sign for ‘make me come _now_.’ His forearms ached from leaning so far back against the teacher’s table. His knees had buckled a long time ago. If Dan wanted to draw out a long and fulfilling orgasm, they could do that later when they had all the time to experiment. Right now, all Fernando needed was release.

So, it was only natural that Dan did the exact opposite and separated from the Spaniard completely. 

“Fuck it, Agger!” Fernando groaned loudly, throwing his hands up in the air.

“What’s the rush?” Dan’s lips twisted into a mischievous grin.

“I don’t know, maybe because you’re blowing me in detention?” The striker retorted.

“Exactly, we’re already in detention, what else could happen?” Dan raised an eyebrow, and Fernando really hated it when he got all technical.

“Oh, more detention. Then probation, maybe suspension and hey, expulsion?” He snapped sarcastically. His cock ached really badly.

To which Daniel replied with teasing flicks of his tongue up Fernando’s inner thighs, around his crotch, sometimes on his sac, but never where Fernando really wanted it. The striker gritted his teeth – it was just like Daniel to skirt the issue. And it was just like Fernando to just deal with it by himself. He reached down for his throbbing dick and slid his hand down the saliva-slick shaft, pumping with long strokes. Daniel could watch for all he cared then.

Dan stared up at Fernando, and watched the Spaniard’s face carefully as he pleasured himself – the sweat dotting his forehead, the pink blush along the bridge of his nose, the erotic way he bit his lip.

Finally, he gently took Fernando’s hands away from his cock and licked the pre-cum of the fingers. They locked eyes intensely, and Dan said, “I want to be the one who gets you off.” The dry, mocking tone was gone now and Fernando could only nod dumbly in response.

Setting a firm grip on Fernando’s hips to keep him from thrusting forwards, Dan took the striker’s erection into his mouth again. Now, he obediently sucked as avidly as he could, taking in the entire length without choking. Fernando’s head dropped back as he groaned wantonly. He didn’t know anyone – _anyone_ – who could torture him that badly, give him so much fucking grief and yet make him feel that mindblowingly good at the same time.

Dan didn’t miss the way Fernando’s body tensed beneath his hands, and in a few more sucks, Fernando came deep in his throat. The striker sank to his knees after he emptied his load, crumpling down on the floor next to Daniel, leaning tiredly against the Dane’s strong chest. Daniel instinctively wrapped an arm around his shuddering body and held him close.

“Can I keep you?” Fernando murmured against the fabric of Dan’s shirt. It was a small, meek question, but Daniel couldn’t come up with the right answer. So, he looked away instead and hoped that his fierce embrace around Fernando could somehow be enough.

“Right,” the Spaniard said to himself disconsolately. He moved to disentangle himself from Daniel, pulling up his briefs and zipping up his pants listlessly. He kept his head down the entire time – Dan knew Fernando was ashamed, broken or near tears even. And he didn’t want to show it.

Dan groaned to himself and gripped Fernando’s forearms tightly to stop him from standing up.

“Look,” Dan said, forcing himself to just spit out the words, “Just because you’re not my boyfriend doesn’t mean I don’t love you, okay?”

Fernando’s head shot up in surprise. His face was blotchy as Dan expected, but his eyes were round in disbelief. But his gaze, his gaze was hard with pure, unadulterated doubt.

“Don’t do this.” And it came more like a warning than an off-hand expression

“Okay, so maybe I don’t know,” Dan stammered, shrugging helplessly. “I don’t know how to call what I feel for you.” He babbled and gestured wildly and this was precisely why he hated expressing feelings. “I mean, I care for Finns. I care for, well, football. And maybe, Volbeat, or... or graduating high school on time. But I kind of like you more than those, so, like, I don’t know, what is it?”

Fernando stared at him, half dumbfounded, half amused.

“So, if love is that ugly, churning feeling in the pit of my stomach right now that’s making me sick, then maybe I love you, okay?” Dan finished, sighing self-consciously.

Fernando chewed on his bottom lip unsurely. “How am I supposed to answer that?”

Dan laughed and he buttoned up Fernando’s shirt for him. “I don’t know,” he said, shrugging again. “But I know you wanted me to come clean and I’m sorry I only worked up the nerve now. I know you deserved a least an explanation, even if it is a bad one.”

Fernando grinned, blushing. “It’s not a bad explanation. It’s just...” Dan raised an eyebrow. Fernando finished helpfully, “Interesting?”

“Thanks,” Dan rolled his eyes and Fernando laughed again. They exchanged small, shy smiles before the defender tugged at Fernando’s unravelled necktie and pulled him into a chaste kiss.

“You know, when I saw you in the library during the first week of school, I thought you’d be a great shag,” Dan murmured teasingly against Fernando’s lips. “I mean, you are, but I thought I’d get you in the back of the Anthropology section or something, get it over with as soon as possible and move on. You could have at least warned me we’d be on a fucking collision course for the entire school year so I could have braced myself.”

Fernando’s jaw dropped and he hit Dan’s arm. “Excuse me, as I recall, you were the one who – ”

But a loud, angry knocking interrupted the striker’s answer. The two boys gasped, exchanged looks of shock, before quickly scrambling to their feet and back to their chairs.

*

The knock came again, and Xabi groaned against his pillow.

“Mikel always had bad timing,” Stevie snickered, licking at the last traces of come on the Basque’s stomach.

“Yeah, but at least we’re done this time,” Xabi said, sighing tiredly.

The knocking came again, more persistently this time, not stopping until Xabi yelled out, “What?”

“I’m starting dinner. Is there anything you want?” Mikel called from outside.

Xabi rolled his eyes at Stevie and Stevie had to stifle a loud guffaw.

“Nothing, Mikel! Go crazy,” Xabi hollered back.

“Oh, that’s the wrong answer. Remember when you let Mikel experiment and we had to chew down rock-hard tuna steaks?” Stevie said, rolling over to lie down beside Xabi.

Xabi laughed too, feeling much more relaxed, “Was that before or after the entire platter of burnt potatoes we had to throw out?”

“Actually, that’s another one for the running.” Stevie confirmed, chuckling along.

Their laughter died down after a while. Xabi propped himself up on his elbow to peek down at the Scouser lying contentedly on his back.

“So,” the Basque began slowly. “What does this mean for us now?”

Stevie shrugged, staring at the ceiling determinedly. “The only thing I know is, I would be lying if I told you that I didn’t want this – that I didn’t want you.”

“But?” Xabi asked, his heartbeat starting to quicken nervously.

“But,” Stevie glanced over at the Basque unsurely, “I don’t know if I can get over Harry Kewell just like that.”

Xabi dropped his head, and Stevie immediately sat up and titled Xabi’s chin so they could talk face-to face.

“I know – I understand – it was a mistake. I’ve forgiven you for that, a long, long time ago. I told you I couldn’t stay mad at you for long,” Stevie said sincerely, as he peered down at Xabi in concern. The Basque’s shoulders relaxed a bit as he nodded.

“Maybe I just need time to get over what happened, you know?” Stevie finished, waiting anxiously for Xabi’s reaction.

“No, you’re right,” Xabi said diplomatically. “It’s only fair.”

A slow smile spread over Stevie’s features as he waited for the clincher.

Xabi grimaced as he continued, “And I know it’s selfish and undeserved, but I just really, _really_ want you back.”

Stevie laughed freely now. “You know you will get me back.” He became more serious now, albeit his eyes still twinkled merrily, “It’s not like there can be anyone else but me and you.”

Xabi raised an eyebrow as he tried to look menacing, “I’ll hold you to that, Steven Gerrard.”

Stevie raised his right hand, “Scout’s honour.” He placed a peck on Xabi’s forehead, “We just need to take things slow and start over.”

There was another bout of harsh, excited knocking and though it could only be expected from Mikel’s innate untimeliness, Stevie and Xabi still both jumped in surprise.

“Xabi, I’m preparing dinner. Is Ste – uh, you friend staying over?”

“You want to bet that Mikel was just standing there, eavesdropping on our conversation the entire time?” Stevie asked wryly.

Xabi’s eyes widened in realization and he slapped his forehead. “Shit.”

Stevie laughed and tugged Xabi to his feet, “Come on. We both better get dressed.”

Xabi nodded and tossed Stevie’s clothes to him. Halfway through jumping into his jeans, Xabi looked over at the Scouser who was glancing at himself in the mirror, patting his unruly hair down in mild frustration. Chuckling to himself, he approached Stevie and wrapped a tentative arm around his waist. Stevie looked up in surprise and their eyes met in the mirror.

“So,” Xabi said, placing a soft kiss on Stevie’s cheek. He smiled at Stevie in the mirror, “In the spirit of starting over, do you want to stay for dinner?”

Stevie smiled and reached up his hand to play with the stubble on Xabi’s cheek. “Sure.”

Outside, there was a stifled whoop of celebration before a restrained, “Xabi, dinner for three then!”

*

_You think Mr Ayesteran is really that mad?  
Sender: Daniel Agger, 5:48 PM_

_You locked him out of the detention room for a good 45 minutes. Yes, I think he’s that mad.  
Sender: Fernando Torres, 5:49 PM_

_Look, I’m sorry, okay?  
Sender: Daniel Agger, 6:10 PM_

_I don’t get it. Sorry for locking out the detention monitor? I don’t care – it was a great blowjob! If we get expelled, however...  
Sender: Fernando Torres, 6:11 PM_

_I’m sorry I don’t know how to commit. I just don’t want to make you promises I know I can’t live up to, you know? Like, I’m not sure I won’t end up hurting you again even  
Sender: Daniel Agger, 6:20 PM_

_if we do get together now. I’m just not good at these things. I mean, we had our Coming Clean Conversation while having sex. Who does that? Do Xabi and Stevie do  
Sender: Daniel Agger, 6:21 PM_

_that while having sex? I don’t think so.  
Sender: Daniel Agger, 6:22 PM_

_Xabi and Stevie don’t have sex. They make love.  
Sender: Fernando Torres, 6:23 PM_

_And I don’t care, Agger. I’ve long known romance wasn’t our style.  
Sender: Fernando Torres, 6:24 PM_

_What’s our style then?  
Sender: Daniel Agger, 6:25 PM_

_More like, spontaneous combustion.  
Sender: Fernando Torres, 6:26 PM_

_Ha. I knew there was a reason I liked you.  
Sender: Daniel Agger, 6:27 PM_

_But you know, if you fuck me over again – I’ll fuck you over harder.  
Sender: Fernando Torres, 6: 39 PM_

_Oh, Torres. You had me at ‘fuck me over.’  
Sender: Daniel Agger, 6:40 PM_

**Author's Note:**

> This is an AU that has grown much, much bigger than me. I've always thought of keeping it in LiveJournal, almost a secret shared only with oldest friends, a memory of past Liverpool (my favourite Liverpool). But I've been thinking of getting back on the saddle after a long break of writing, and nothing else can motivate you more than putting all of yourself out there, right? So, here it is.


End file.
